Unity Through Chaos
by Zellarius Burvenia
Summary: When James Bond is given an unusual assignment, he quickly discovers that the fate of his world and those beyond it depends on its success. Crossover of James Bond, Harry Potter, A Song of Ice and Fire, and many others. COMPLETE! Part II upcoming.
1. BlueEye

A man walked into a bar.

He didn't see a hamster playing the piano, he didn't try to make a horse laugh, and he certainly didn't say "Ow! Shit!" and duck the bar next time. His was a mission outside the realm of stupid locker room jokes and in the realm of-

'Actually, that's exactly where it is,' he thought to himself. 'Not every day a fire hydrant sprays a dog instead of the other way around.'

For the past day or two, he had briefly wondered whether MI6 had been pulling his leg; why this was so, he couldn't be sure, as April Fools' Day had long since come and gone. He briefly entertained the idea of a connection to the recent rash of meteor showers, before deciding that that was a stupid and groundless notion.

Regardless, the footage was there - he had seen it with his own eyes. Nine days ago, at precisely 3:22 on October 19th, a dalmatian - small for its size - had chosen to mark its territory on a seemingly ordinary hydrant on London's Edgware Road, and no sooner than it had begun had the usually docile fixture fired back, knocking the very distressed and confused dog into oncoming traffic (fortunately, it was unharmed.) So did Edgware Road become permanently etched in the consciousness of Londoners as "where the hydrants fought back."

Or it would have.

The only video MI6 had was a 25-second clip from the Nokia belonging to an officer who had been on the scene, and driven back to headquarters in a hurry. Despite the evidence on his phone, he remembered nothing of the incident - nor, in fact, had any of the witnesses in the video that had been tracked down and questioned.

Mass hysteria, 009 had said. No, countered 005, for then the video would have recorded an ordinary fire hydrant, and cameras do not lie! Both wrong, 008 had insisted, for cannot mirages be photographed?

The man known as 007 reflected on this briefly as he stepped up to the bar and ordered a vodka martini ("Shaken or stirred?" "Surprise me.") He wondered why any of his coworkers had not been assigned to this relatively small-time job, and chalked it up to it being his boss's way of welcoming him back from his extended vacation. 'Odd,' he mused. 'M's not usually one for humor.'

007 sipped his drink, and glanced around the bar in his usual detached manner. It was crowded in the Factory Room (so named for its owner, who had worked in a spam cannery.) There were the usual suspects - university students out with friends, a businessman here and there, the old men in the corner busy at chess. No sign of his contact.

"Don't be surprised if he's a few minutes late, Bond." M had informed him. "It's not unusual among his kind."

Another thing that struck him as odd. "His kind." Snippy M could be, but he had never pegged her for a racist.

For now he filed this thought away. Look for red hair, he had been told - blue eyes, receding hairline, wire-rimmed glasses, and somewhat shabby clothing. "You'll know him when you see him," he had been told.

As he considered the plausibility of that statement, a somewhat loud yet friendly voice from the entrance caught his attention.

"Sorry I'm late! I tried to make it earlier, but you know the traffic and all- ow! Excuse me, sir! Terribly sorry..."

He did indeed know him when he saw him. The newcomer had the air of one who was keeping up an appearance. 'A rather run-down appearance,' Bond thought dryly. This man's clothes were patched in several places, and his glasses were slightly cracked. His thinning red hair was rumpled somewhat, but there was no denying the light in his eyes - this was a man who knew how he must look, and yet didn't care as much as one usually would. A content man. Bond envied him.

His contact took the stool next to him, ordering something called a butterbeer, and then switching to "Whatever he's having, then, sorry" (gesturing toward Bond) when he caught the bemused look on the barkeep's face.

"So! You'll have gotten the briefing already, I suppose?" the mystery man began when he received his drink. "An aggressive fire hydrant - remarkable little things, by the way - that's a new one! Usually we get reports about public toilets, or those what-d'you-call-'ems, the black standy things-"

"Light poles?" Bond interrupted, feeling slightly like he was missing something.

The man stopped short, seemed to remember where he was, and then said "Yes! Light poles! Troublesome creatures, those. Now this fire hydrant of yours was nothing of the sort. Our team got in there and fixed it right up-"

"'Your team'?" Bond interjected. Now he was confused. "When were any other officers there? Our man was the only one of us who had seen anyth-"

"Ah, but where are my manners? We haven't even been introduced!" the man responded. He then adopted a more serious demeanor, dropping his voice. "My name is Weasley, sir. Arthur Weasley. And this goes a bit beyond 'your man.'"


	2. The Man With the Colorless Wand

Previously:

"My name is Weasley, sir. Arthur Weasley. And this goes a bit beyond 'your man.'"

---

Bond considered this a moment. "And how far beyond is this?"

Weasley sighed. "Well, I'm afraid I wouldn't know where to begin-"

"You can start by telling me about the hydrant," Bond interrupted. "MI6 was rather unhelpful in that area, and you seem to know far more about it than they do."

"Oh, indeed," replied Weasley. "Though we'd have to take this conversation somewhere a bit less crowded - classified information and all that. You understand."

"Of course," said Bond, though he tensed himself for an ambush.

They paid for their drinks, and left the Factory Room in a hurry. "We're really in luck, you know," Weasley told his companion. "Charing Cross Road isn't more than two or three minutes' walk from here."

"Of course," Bond answered. He wondered if the situation was already getting out of hand. 'Of course it is,' he told himself. 'It was out of your hands from the moment 004 started making those hydrant jokes.' "Where are we going?"

"Someplace safe. Ordinarily I wouldn't be able to take you, but we've modified security for MI6's sake."

'Modified.' Not 'lightened,' not 'decreased,' not 'forewarned.' 'Modified.' Whatever could that mean?

James Bond wondered momentarily whether he wanted to find out.

---

It was silent that day in the Palace of Westminster. Light filtered through the grimy windows where it could, but did little to alleviate the gloom of this forgotten corner of the building. A great round table dominated the room, emblazoned not with the crown and portcullis of Parliament, but with two interlocking triangles, one without and one within; the three-sided figure was inlaid with innumerable sigils and decoration, complicated and unfathomable enough to claim the sanity of he who studied it. Little more than this symbol united those gathered around it, who would not have joined forces had they not seen an opportunity for personal gain.

No one stood to gain more than the man seated opposite the door. This was the man who had organized their little group, calling four to his side to aid him in his quest. What this quest was, only he knew for sure.

He wore a blindingly white cloak which illuminated the room more than the sunlight, and which was inlaid with some of the symbols present in the insignia on the table. His golden hair fell in perfect curls around his face, which appeared to be chiseled from stone. There was a tangible energy in the air around him, which would set anyone's hair on end. His eyes were nothing more than pools of gold, and these he fixed appraisingly on the figure across from him as he spoke.

"What of the fire hydrant, then? For what reason does it put our secrecy at risk?"

The man to his left cut in. "What are we to do about it? No doubt some sorceror emboldened by-"

"I wasn't asking you, Littlefinger. My query was for him and him alone," the man in white stated coldly, indicating the pale, black-robed being across from him.

The man in question was quite the opposite of the leader - where the latter's cloak was whiter than virgin snow, the former had a cloak black as night, though nowhere near as black as that of the person seated at his left. His skin was the color of one dead, accentuating the blood-red and slitted eyes that regarded the man in white. Lord Voldemort toyed with a bone-white wand as he spoke.

"Littlefinger is correct," - here the goateed, silver-caped man smirked - "The Muggles' fire hydrant was doubtless the work of a wizard inspired by the recent activities of my followers. I see no reason to track him down - the Ministry of Magic has that under control."

"But what of your Order of the Phoenix?" inquired the equally pale, turquoise-clad woman at the table. "They know you're up to something! And if they know about you, they must know about the rest of us!"

"Peace, Amelia." The voice belonging to the scarred, blue-haired, and black-cloaked man seemed to be spun from the darkness that suffused the meeting room. "They realize that Voldemort is preparing for a confrontation, but as far as they know, he does not want or need help."

"A sentiment that persists to this day," muttered the Dark Lord.

"Saïx, Saïx, Saïx. Surely you cannot be the only one who has seen the signs?" Littlefinger had chosen a dark green doublet for the meeting, his cape fastened in place by his usual mockingbird clasp. "Meteor showers almost weekly, sudden and unpredictable changes in the weather, increasingly frequent disappearances - have you any idea what the people are saying? They blame it on the temperature, or the wrath of their fictional gods. Now, Amelia speaks wisely - the Order knows better. They know all this means that our homes affect each other now more than they ever have; you of all people should know how such things work. And it's all thanks to Ramiel and his colleagues." Here Littlefinger referred to the man in white, who bristled at his informality.

"If indeed you are correct, Littlefinger, we must act with all speed. Eight of this world's leaders must be eliminated for our plan to be set in motion, and we must give them a reason to meet. The current disturbances are not enough. Voldemort, increase the magnitude of your raids. Let no wizard speak your name lightly. Lady Amelia, tell Lord Markus what I tell you: your coven must take further steps to eliminate the werewolf menace."

The stately, black-haired woman in the turquoise dress was shocked. "Further steps? We thin the lycan ranks daily, and at great risk to our secrecy! Why, there was open fighting between us in the subways of Budapest not three days ago!"

"In my world, werewolves are kept separate from the rest of us. Perhaps you could do with some aid, Amelia," Voldemort commented dryly. Amelia hissed at him, fangs bared.

Ramiel ignored this. "The people of this world will not believe what they do not wish to. The exchange in the subway was nothing more than a gang war to them. I'm told that sort of thing happens quite often."

Amelia sat back in her chair, fuming. "If it please you."

Ramiel stood. "At this time next week, this building will not be here. We meet in King's Landing the day after. Littlefinger, I trust you are entitled to some guests?"

Littlefinger chuckled. "The king cares not whether I choose to burn down a whorehouse or two. He shouldn't object to a dinner party."

Ramiel nodded. "Very well. Saïx, return to your superior and tell him what was said here. The rest of you, you have your orders. This meeting is over."


	3. On Her Majesty's Order of the Phoenix

Previously: "Where are we going?"  
"Someplace safe. Ordinarily I wouldn't be able to take you, but we've modified security for MI6's sake."  
'Modified.' Not 'lightened,' not 'decreased,' not 'forewarned.' 'Modified.' Whatever could that mean?

James Bond wondered momentarily whether he wanted to find out.

---

The choice was, of course, not his to make, as the man called Arthur Weasley was his only lead. Bond kept after him, moving through the crowds of London as would a fish against a current. They had walked only a couple of minutes when Weasley called out "Right then - here we are! Don't make too much of your entrance, though I'm sure no one will notice..." His voice was lost amidst the sounds of the traffic and voices of Charing Cross Road. Bond looked to where Weasley was gesturing.

It was a small, dark building, which could be charitably called "quaint" and uncharitably called "grubby." A sign hanging out front proclaimed that this was the Leaky Cauldron, which appeared to be a pub of sorts. 'From one pub to another,' Bond thought, feeling somewhat impatient. 'Another hydrant attack and my day will have been perfectly symmetrical.'

His reflection was interrupted by the sharp decrease in volume as he and his companion entered the pub. As soon as the door closed, the noise of the outside world vanished instantly. Bond whirled, immediately on guard. The windows still showed Charing Cross Road, but no sound penetrated them, nor did anyone on the streets seem to give the building a passing glance. One lingering gaze at London later, Bond turned back to the Leaky Cauldron.

And found himself the center of attention.

The wrinkled old barkeep had frozen where he stood, the bottle in his hand forgotten. The drink within overflowed the tankard that was its goal. The ten or fifteen patrons' gazes were fixed on the agent, regarding him quite like a pack of wolves regards its prey. Bond felt a twinge of unease, but returned their stony stares with a stoic look of his own that swept the room. The barkeep remembered himself, hastily moving to clean up the mess, and the pubgoers returned to their drinks, mumbling in hushed tones.

Mr. Weasley spoke then. "Back to your drinks, everyone, there's nothing and no one to see here. Come on, then, James - may I call you James?"

Bond grunted his approval, crossing the pub with the red-haired man. As they made their way toward an old mahogany staircase, he caught snatches of conversations, of which (and here he was at once curious and unnerved) he was the subject.

"-lettin' a Muggle in here-"  
"-never in all my life-"  
"-something to do with You-Know-Who?"

James was totally lost on the meaning of all this. Who was You-Know-Who? What was a Muggle, and why did they call him one?

They reached their destination as he was pondering the third question. Mr. Weasley stopped across from Room 18 - only to turn to the space between rooms 17 and 19. Which, Bond thought, made little sense for a destination.

But this thought was quickly overpowered by the shock of what Weasley did then.

The strange, balding man crouched down in front of the wall, whispered something unintelligible, and stood up as a door of black, varnished oak seemed to form from the patterns on the walls - doorknob and all. The door was numbered -18.

All kinds of alarms went off within Bond's mind. What he had witnessed was impossible - a door appearing as if by magic. But magic didn't exist - it couldn't! Everyone knew that.

Then he made a connection. 'Unless the fire hydrant attack was caused by the same sort of magic.' What hadn't M told him? How much did Weasley know? Bond intended to find out.

Immediately, Bond grabbed Weasley by the shoulders, shoving him up against the newly created door. "What just happened here?" he hissed. Mr. Weasley's eyes widened in surprise and fear, and he sputtered "James - what are you - no, it's-"

"What - just - happened - here?" Bond interrupted, punctuating each word with a slam against the door.

The interrogation ended abruptly when the door was pulled open, and a shocked voice cried out "Arthur!" Powerful hands wrenched Mr. Weasley from Bond's grip, and he drew his pistol - only to have three lengths of wood pointed at him in the same manner as his gun. 'Magic,' he thought. 'Wands?'

The person in the middle of the group spoke. "Inside. Now. Tonks, close the door. Lupin, keep an eye on the Muggle."

Her voice had a ring of maternal and official authority similar to M's. The woman was short and plump, with hair as red as Mr. Weasley's. A look of pure venom marred her otherwise pleasant face. Her wand was pointed directly at Bond's throat as she gave her commands. A young woman with bubblegum-pink hair - apparently Tonks - moved to close the door to Room -18, and a pale, older, tired-looking man kept his wand on James; this was clearly Lupin. Mr. Weasley had backed off. "Now, Molly," he said shakily, "let's not get overhasty...he's only a Muggle-"

"Only a Muggle with a gun, Arthur!" screeched the woman. Bond wondered briefly if she was Weasley's wife, and decided that he did not envy him in the least. "If You-Know-Who is getting ready for war, bring in your Ministry friends, not some mad Muggle with God knows how many of his men watching our every move and WILL YOU PUT THAT GUN DOWN!"

"Molly." A calm yet firm voice interrupted her. It was Lupin who made himself heard. "He comes alone - that much is certain. Kingsley assured us that MI6 was trustworthy, and I am inclined to believe him." Bond didn't know this man, but silently thanked him for taking his side against this woman.

"Now," Lupin continued, turning to Bond. "Molly is right - you should lay down your weapon. I promise no harm will come to you." Bond, still on edge, considered this. There were four of them, and he thought he could subdue the two closest - the ones called Tonks and Lupin - and outrun the rest. Tell M it was a trap, get the SAS in there. Then he remembered the door, and the wands pointed at him. What else could this magic - if indeed that was what it was - do to him?

'Discretion is the better part of valor,' he thought, defeated, and slowly crouched to lay down his gun.

Molly gave a stiff nod, and motioned for him to stand. "Come with us. There's someone who wants to see you." Bond nodded, and followed her into the next room. Tonks and Arthur moved to flank him, while Lupin picked up the gun and slipped it into a large coat pocket.

They emerged in a great hall which seemed far bigger than the pub itself. Bond decided not to think about that too hard, instead taking in the room's furnishings. The walls were done in dark brown oak, and a massive blue chandelier dominated the ceiling. A long table took up half the room, and there was a sitting area with several overstuffed armchairs and couches around a fireplace, which at the moment had a fire blazing in it. About eight people stood or sat in the room - some conversing quietly in the sitting area, others gathered around a blackboard on the far wall, chalk and erasers moving freely. They, like the pubgoers, stopped talking and stared at Bond, only to be detered by an icy glare from Molly.

Bond took all this in, feeling very ill at ease. 'Well,' he thought to himself, 'what have we gotten into this time?'


	4. A V to a Kill

'Well,' he thought to himself, 'what have we gotten into this time?'

---

"Agent 007. James Bond. It is an honor to meet you, though I wish it had not required an armed guard." The dark-skinned man that addressed Bond wore robes of blue and purple, and spoke in a calm tone untouched by the tension surrounding the agent and his guards. His brown eyes were tired, yet still possessed a gleam of- was that hope? Hope for what? 'Just how serious is the fire hydrant to these people?' thought Bond. "Likewise," he said. "I'd rather not be under guard either."

The man chuckled. "My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I think we'll get along just fine."

Bond raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure we'd get along better if I knew what I was helping you with."

"Of course," replied Kingsley. "I realize you might not have been familiarized with certain elements of the situation at hand."

"An understatement if ever there was one." That drew another chuckle from Kingsley. Now Bond was getting impatient. "Let's get to the point. What is a Muggle, who is You-Know-Who, what caused the hydrant, and why do I have wands pointed at me?"

Kingsley smiled. "I'll answer your last two questions first. Molly, Tonks, Lupin - wands away. And I'd like to speak to our guest privately." Bond's guards complied, though Molly still looked as if she wanted to hurt him. As Kingsley led him into a nearby tearoom, Bond exchanged poisonousglares with the Weasley woman.

"Don't mind Mrs. Weasley," Kingsley assured Bond. "Once she gets to know you, she'll treat you like part of the family."

Bond, who had been looking out the window at the unfamilar streets beyond, faced Kingsley and muttered his acknowledgement. Kingsley sat him down in a huge maroon armchair, and spoke."The first thing you should know, Mr. Bond, is that under normal circumstances none of this would have happened - the hydrant, your meeting with Arthur - you would still be living your life normally.

"This is because we come from different places - not merely different countries, or even different planets. You and I are from Earth, but not the same Earth."

Bond was immediately skeptical. "We're from the same place, but not. Now how is that possible?"

"I myself did not know until recently. From what we have gathered, we know that there exist many worlds - some, of course, resemble this one almost exactly, with but minor changes. These are our homes, and the homes of others we have not yet met. Other worlds are drastically different from ours, in geography, laws of nature, and countless other ways. Usually, these worlds are kept separate, but for reasons not yet certain, our worlds are converging."

Bond considered this. "So the fire hydrant is a side effect? Like the meteor showers in the news lately?"

"Yes and no," Kingsley replied. "The more similar worlds - like ours - integrate almost seamlessly. We wake up one day to find that we share our existence with people that would otherwise exist only in storybooks or not at all, but our history, geography, and other fundamentals remain unchanged. The meteor showers are just a taste of the more different worlds; you see, their integration is considerably more difficult. As you can imagine, if all the different worlds become one, the resulting chaos would be unstoppable."

Now Bond was catching on. "So the hydrant was the work of people like you?"

Kingsley's smile was rueful. "Only in terms of ability. I should tell you first that I and my colleagues here are all witches and wizards. There is a whole world of magic existing alongside your Muggle world - 'Muggle' referring to a nonmagical person."

This was almost too much for Bond to take. "And what proof do you have of this? How do I know the fire hydrant and your door aren't just smoke and mirrors?"

In response, Kingsley raised his wand. Bond instinctively reached for his gun, and then remembered that it had been confiscated. He simply watched as the man before him flicked his wand and blasted a nearby chair to pieces. Bond stared in disbelief as the chair was repaired with another flick of the wand, the pieces reforming and knitting together as if the chair had never been shattered.

Kingsley looked at Bond then, smiling. "Smoke and mirrors?"

Bond blinked, then met his host's calm gaze. "You've made your point. What about the hydrant? Does your kind do that sort of thing for fun?"

"Only the ones who enjoy preying on Muggles. Most of them are simply troublemakers with nothing better to do, and our government - the Ministry of Magic - takes care of those. The truly malicious ones are what we are concerned with. You see, we are at war with a man who wishes to destroy your kind. He is sometimes known as You-Know-Who, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. However, his true name is Lord Voldemort, and his followers - the Death Eaters - are many."

Bond nodded. "So your people approached MI6 for aid when this whole thing started?"

He was surprised when Kingsley laughed. "MI6 approached us, James! Your Prime Minister keeps up a correspondence with our Minister of Magic, you see. He insisted on government involvement, due to the gravity of our situation. He wanted to send in the best man to work with us, and that man was you."

Now things were coming together. Except for one point. "So there are different worlds coming together, for whatever reason, and that is how we find ourselves here," Bond said.

"Precisely."

"And," Bond went on, "further convergence is a bad thing. How do we stop it?"

"We'll discuss it in the next meeting," Kingsley replied.

"When?"

"Now. Time is short, and you need a quick update."

Bond groaned inwardly. It had been a very long day already, and now there was a meeting to go to. Marvelous.

Kingsley stood, and led Bond out of the room. He raised his voice, and spoke: "Attention! In order to brief our guest from MI6, and to plan for next week's raid, I am calling a meeting immediately. All members must attend."

The men and women assembled complied, moving to the massive table at the far end of the hall. Some threw curious glances in Bond's direction, including a young man with unruly black hair and glasses, and one girl with bushy brown hair and three large books in her arms waved. Bond nodded in reply, moving to sit down next to Kingsley, who began a roll call.

"Dedalus Diggle."

"Present," answered a curious man in purple robes.

"Mundungus Fletcher."

No response. A pair of red-haired twins seated on either side of what looked like a great pile of rags simultaneously punched it, yelling "Dung!" The pile moved, revealing itself as a very disheveled and grubby man, who until that moment had been enjying a nap. "Oh! I'm 'ere, sorry."

"Nymphadora Tonks."

"Tonks," answered the pink-haired woman icily.

On the list of names went. When finally Kingsley was finished, he announced "I wish to introduce James Bond, sent by the Muggle agency MI6 to work with us. On behalf of all of us, James, welcome to the Order of the Phoenix."

A chorus of greetings arose from the table. Bond gave an "Afternoon" in response.

"Right, then," continued Kingsley. "The first order of business-"

"Is to finish introducing the members," a silky bass voice interrupted. Everyone turned to face the tearoom door.

"Sorry I'm late. Luckily, the window was unlocked." This voice belonged to a man dressed all in black - black cape, black hat, and black gloves, which made his shockingly white, smiling mask stand out all the more. He made his way to the table, sitting down next to Mrs. Weasley, who flinched slightly.

Kingsley was unfazed. "A pleasure to see you again, V."

"Likewise, Kingsley. I do hope you weren't planning to start without me."


	5. The Stealth Is Not Enough

Previously:

"Sorry I'm late. Luckily, the window was unlocked." This voice belonged to a man dressed all in black - black cape, black hat, and black gloves, which made his shockingly white, smiling mask stand out all the more. He made his way to the table, sitting down next to Mrs. Weasley, who flinched slightly.

Kingsley was unfazed. "A pleasure to see you again, V."

"Likewise, Kingsley. I do hope you weren't planning to start without me."

---

The atmosphere in the meeting room immediately tensed, and this did not escape James Bond. It was clear that the new arrival was not completely trusted by the witches and wizards in the room - with the exception of Kingsley, who remained calm as ever, and the twins, who were grinning as if Christmas had come early.

Kingsley broke the silence. "James, it is my pleasure to introduce you to V. He's our...inside man, for lack of a better term." V gave a wave hello, and the twins stifled laughter.

Bond focused immediately on the masked man. "Inside man, are you? And why should we trust someone so close to the center?" He looked at Kingsley. "Do you even know this man's background? He could be anyone at all under that mask." Mrs. Weasley gave a grudging nod; apparently there was common ground between them.

Kingsley started to speak, when V interrupted. "I think it best if I explain to our snappily dressed colleague - I daresay the story would be much improved if relayed firsthand."

V turned to Bond, meeting his stone gaze with the perpetually gleeful smirk on his mask. "Our tale begins in the tunnels of the London Underground, as these tales occasionally do. It was the end of a day much like any other, save for the presence of an intruder in my little corner of town - in the twists and turns without, rather. Now, visitors down there are few and far between, but on this particular evening, the security cameras I rigged detected something most unusual."

"And what was that?" inquired Bond.

"You'll love this," V answered. "It was a train."

Bond glanced quickly around the table for verification. Nobody moved to deny V's statement - most of the adults were still, patiently listening. The twins doubled over in silent laughter, and the black-haired youth he had seen earlier was conversing in hushed tones with two others his age. Clearly everyone had heard this story before.

Bond's attention returned to V. "I don't imagine you would get many trains in the Underground," he responded, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"No, surprisingly," V told him, undaunted. "Quite counter-intuitive, really; they were shut down long ago where I come from. I trust Kingsley's told you all about that." Kingsley nodded in response.

"Now, to continue, I managed to catch sight of someone clinging to the walls after the train passed. He then slipped through a nearby doorway and disappeared."

Bond spoke up. "May I ask what this person looked like?"

V's mask did not betray the amusement in his voice. "Quite like myself, actually - clad all in black and wearing a mask, though of a far less amiable nature than my own."

Mrs. Weasley stood up. "So you admit it then? You are a Death Eater?"

Lupin stood to calm the tightly wound redhead, when V motioned for him to sit down. Turning to Mrs. Weasley, he responded "I said nothing of the sort. If I wished you harm, I expect you'd all be dead before the evening was out. May I go on?" Mrs. Weasley blanched, and reluctantly sat, never taking her eyes off V. Bond whispered to Kingsley "Is she always this way?"

"Ever since the Death Eaters' offensive that left her home in ruins. She's very careful of who she trusts." Kingsley had just enough time to say this before V spoke again.

"To make a long story short, I followed him next time I saw him, and stuck a tracking device on him. He went to the Palace of Westminster when Parliament wasn't in session."

"And then?" Bond inquired.

V didn't bat an eye - not that he could. "Well, I did what anyone else would do in this situation - I manufactured a false identity, bought a room in a building across from the room where our mystery man stopped, and kept watch. And I found that we face not one enemy, but five."

Arthur choked on his glass of water. After he regained his composure, he tentatively asked "And...who are these five? Are they all Dark wizards like You-Know-Who?"

V shook his head. "Besides your friend, one is a stunning young woman who dresses in varying shades of depressing blue. She looked royal to me. Another appears to be a regular, nonmagical man who looks like he stepped out of one of Shakespeare's works. The third is a scarred, blue-haired man, and he does appear to have some magical ability - apparently he can appear and disappear as he pleases. And the fourth wore an intricate white-and-gold robe; he looked positively angelic. He seems to be the leader of this little club."

Bond thought this over. "So we're fighting two wizards, a princess, Hamlet, and an angel. I suppose Father Christmas is flying us in?"

Lupin looked grim. "This is no laughing matter, James. Lord Voldemort is a very proud man. He would not deign to work with a Muggle, or even a wizard, unless it was a wizard or otehr being of incredible power."

"Or unless he could get something really valuable out of it," Arthur put in.

"Or both."

This came from the black-haired, bespectacled youth. "What if we're looking at someone...worse than Voldemort? Or at least as bad as he is. What doesn't Voldemort have that this person can give him?"

The table was silent as everyone considered this. Then the girl with the books spoke up.

"Well, the only things I can think of are the Wizarding world...and you, Harry. Do you know anyone close to Voldemort?" At once everyone at the table gave Harry their undivided attention. Bond was utterly confused. What did Harry know, and how? Before he could ask, Harry answered.

"In my dreams sometimes...I've seen Voldemort talking to him...the man in the white robe needs his help, and in return Voldemort gets..." He stopped.

"What?" Bond prompted.

"Everything. The world." Harry responded. "The others were promised more or less the same with their worlds."

Again the table fell silent. Kinglsey whispered to Lupin, and then rose. "If all this is true, and the recent disturbances are the work of the man in the robe and his partners, we must act with all speed - preferably in the next ten days. Would anyone like to suggest a plan of action?"

V immediately raised his hand. Kingsley nodded in acknowledgement, and the masked man answered "It's quite simple, really. We destroy the Palace of Westminster."


	6. Tomorrow Will Die

Previously:

"In my dreams sometimes...I've seen Voldemort talking to him...the man in the white robe needs his help, and in return Voldemort gets..." He stopped.

"What?" Bond prompted.

"Everything. The world." Harry responded. "The others were promised more or less the same with their worlds."

Again the table fell silent. Kingsley whispered to Lupin, and then rose. "If all this is true, and the recent disturbances are the work of the man in the robe and his partners, we must act with all speed - preferably in the next ten days. Would anyone like to suggest a plan of action?"

V immediately raised his hand. Kingsley nodded in acknowledgement, and the masked man answered "It's quite simple, really. We destroy the Palace of Westminster."

---

And thus was the day divided into two parts: the first being the time before V made his radical suggestion, and the second being the aftermath. And oh, what an aftermath it was.

Not a corner of Room -18 was silent. "What foolishness is this?" "Absolutely not!" "He means to expose us!" Even Arthur Weasley was visibly upset - "The Muggles would never forgive us!" - as Kingsley attempted to quell the sudden outburst. "Silence, all of you! V, what gives you this idea?"

V shrugged, quite calm in the face of all the shouting - or, at least, his mask was. "Well, I found their hideout - doing you all a great service, I might add. And when I did, I remembered the explosives I already had in place pre-convergence - my world's Britain is ruled by something of a tyrant, you see. 'What a terrible waste,' I thought, 'if things don't go back to normal soon.' Now that we see not one tyrant there, but five, I can do everyone an even bigger favor - provided my equipment didn't get lost in the shuffle."

James Bond couldn't believe how casually the masked man was discussing the destruction of the Palace - Britain's most recognizable landmark, the seat of Parliament itself! Nor, he soon found, could anyone else.

"V, mate, we idolize you and all," began one of the twins, "But could we maybe do this without burning things down?" "Just lock 'em out, that'd boil 'em," put in the other one, earning a giggle from their side of the table.

Lupin spoke, as well. "I agree with Fred and George. The Muggles wouldn't tolerate such a course of action."

V scoffed. "Oh, the Muggles, the Muggles. I'm a Muggle, and I came up with it in the first place. All we'd need to do is wait a week to push the shiny red button in our hands."

Kingsley frowned. "I was thinking more along the lines of a strike team - an invasion of the palace by nightfall. The idea is to keep collateral damage to a minimum."

"Oh, that's your answer for everything." Bond found it unnerving how V's mask didn't match the suddenly less lighthearted tone.

He raised a hand, and Kingsley motioned for him to speak. "With all due respect, V - if indeed that is your name - the destruction of one of the most famous buildings in the world seems to be going a bit far. I'm an expert in infiltration, and judging by your entrance, so are you. I agree with Kingsley - we go in silently, bring down the enemy, and call it a day."

Kingsley nodded. "All in favor?" A chorus of "Aye"s echoed throughout the room, from all except V, who simply said "Don't blame me if this little plan should fail."

"It won't," Kingsley responded, "because you're going to keep an eye on them for us. Make sure they don't have any tricks up their sleeves."

V stood. "If it's all the same to you, Kingsley, I think I'll do that right now. James, it's good to work with you. A splendid afternoon to you all." V exited the room; seconds later, he exited the building.

There was silence for a moment. "He'll be back," said Fred. "He always is."

Molly sighed. "Fred, dear, some of us don't want him back."

Kingsley snapped his fingers for order. "If we are all agreed, I motion to adjourn for the afternoon. We attack the night of November 4th; daily meetings until then."

Those assembled rose to return to their positions pre-meeting - save for Lupin and two others, who stayed behind to talk with Kingsley, and for Fred, George, a red-haired boy who could have been their brother, the black-haired boy with glasses, and the girl with the books, who approached Bond.

"Is it true what they say?" asked the girl. "That you're a spy?"

"I do what MI6 requires of me," replied Bond, "including, sometimes, a bit of spying. It's worked out quite well for the past 20 or so years."

"Done a bit of work against the Russians, then?" This was from the red-haired mystery boy. "I've heard they were all about spying!"

"Ronald Weasley! Where are your manners?" Fred scolded mockingly. "A gentleman introduces himself first." He and George turned to James. "See what we've got to put up with?" said George, offering a friendly handshake. "I swear, I don't know what this world is coming to. I'm Fred, by the way, that's George." Ron snickered.

"Oh, how rude of me! I'm Hermione." The girl gestured toward the black-haired young man. "And this is-"

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Bond shook their hands. "James. A pleasure to meet you all. But shouldn't you be in school?"

"Emergency circumstances," replied Ron. "Voldemort's right where we want him. Mum fought it, of course, but Kingsley and Lupin wanted everyone's help."

"I just hope I'm prepared for the end-of-year exams," sighed Hermione. "I've brought all my books with me for that reason."

Harry spoke. "You won't need them if the school is too busy celebrating. I'd be surprised if we weren't exempted for helping bring Voldemort down." Ron and Hermione shuddered at the name.

Something was still bothering James Bond. "Fred, George - what was so funny back at the meeting? You looked like you were going to break down any second."

Fred and George looked at each other, then grinned. "It's V, James. He could have been making all sorts of faces at you behind that mask of his."

"We'd do the same thing if we were him," said George. "And by the way, I was only joking - I'm really George. That's Fred."

Bond cracked a smile. The children were all very welcoming indeed. It was going to be an interesting week.


	7. Dr Nobody

Previously:

Bond cracked a smile. The children were all very welcoming indeed. It was going to be an interesting week.

---

"Interesting," as it turned out, was hardly sufficient. "Incredible," perhaps, or "Astounding" would have been better for the week leading up to the fourth of November. James Bond had, after all, been recently introduced to magic, something society and common sense in general dictates is the stuff of legend.

But the most accurate descriptor for James's stay in Room -18 would have to be "Enlightening."

Enlightening for the reason above, of course. Over the intervening days between Bond's introduction to the Order and the attack on the Palace of Westminster, he had seen more "impossible" acts than he quite cared to. Kingsley's demonstration with the chair in the tearoom had shaken him quite a bit - and he was not easily shaken. More than once he had seen Harry and the others practicing "dueling," the results of which were usually rather shocking; the loser usually ended up sprawled on the ground, in fits of magic-induced laughter, or frozen still as a statue, appearing for all intents and purposes to be a corpse. And after such a display, the loser was healed, and invariably congratulated the winner on his or her technique, accepting pointers from their better.

James Bond decided that MI6 could get by without him for a while after all was said and done.

The surrounding area was a Dickensian village whose main road, at the end of which stood the Leaky Cauldron, was known as Diagon Alley, despite its unerring straightness. Venturing into the wizarding world for the first time, at Kingsley's insistence ("Best to know what kind of people you're working with, you see"), was like stepping back in time about 200 years. There were no motor vehicles or electric appliances of any sort, everything apparently powered by magic. Shops and restaurants of all kinds lined the cobblestoned way, owls and other creatures crying out for release here, a broom shop there (which, oddly, was extremely popular with the young wizards and witches). And toward the end of the way, Bond stumbled across Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor - which, even though Voldemort's men had dragged the owner off (and the workers refused to mention the dark wizard's name), still served the best ice cream in the city.

They didn't take British pounds, oddly enough - Bond had to exchange his money for the wizards' gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts before he could find out whether Fortescue's ice cream was as good as they said. "You could buy a lot more than ice cream with these coins in London," Bond mused.

It was on Halloween, which that year fell on a Thursday, that Bond was enlightened once again.

He had started that day in the shooting range which the Order had so graciously provided for him, which was through a dark red door in the tearoom Bond was almost certain hadn't been there before. He had resolved to think about that detail as little as possible.

After practicing with his gun, he observed Harry and Ron practicing with their wands for half an hour or so. Harry was clearly the superior duelist, as he managed to disarm Ron nearly every time. After the sixth or seventh time Ron's wand went flying off, though, he picked up on Harry's patterns and lasted a bit longer, and it was clear by the time Bond left that he was improving.

Bond had set off down Diagon Alley, passing hundreds of robed and cloaked witches and wizards, all of whom gave him a wide berth. The atmosphere in the Leaky Cauldron's barroom was only a taste of what Bond would experience out here - everyone, witch and wizard, young and old, was rather uncomfortable with his presence. Whispers and pointed fingers swarmed Bond like flies around rotting meat, and he concluded that his Muggle nature was to blame; clearly, only magical folk lived here. He considered once or twice shouting "BOO!", which, while it would have scattered the already on-edge crowd and been great fun, would probably have reflected poorly on him in general.

Bond's restraint was solidly in place that cloudy Thursday, as he made his was to Fortescue's for tea and a bowl of buttered pecan ice cream. He had been glad this more mundane flavor existed here - some of the more exotic choices, like Rocky Roach and Living Lemon, were decidedly unnerving.

But Bond could not escape being unnerved that day.

Raised voices about thirty yards down the road distracted him from his frozen snack, but he figured it was nothing more than a heated argument. It was only when the raised voices turned to screams of horror that he leaped from his seat, searching for any sign of danger.

He found it just outside a bookshop, Flourish and Blotts, where the crowd had parted. In the center of a circle of people was a wizard of about forty, pale and wide-eyed and desperately trying to fend off the creature before him. This creature was about three feet tall - white, with long limbs ending in sharp points and an almost totally featureless head. The only sign that the creature's head was a head was the gigantic mouth, which took up half of it. The thing appeared to have no teeth, instead possessing a gigantic zipper for its lips. It leaped and twisted in some alien fashion, and Bond could see that it was not of this world.

The thing in white twirled, menacing the crowd, too shocked to use their wands, and too scared, lest they hit some innocent. It turned to the pale wizard, dancing toward him. In a flash it hopped upon him, furiously clawing at his chest.

Bond had by this time leapt the fence outside of Fortescue's, his ice cream forgotten, and drawn his pistol. He made his way to the crowd, taking aim and firing three shots. All three found their mark, knocking the unearthly monster off its victim. It lay there a moment, then rose and made its horrible way toward Bond, seemingly unaffected. Bond shot the thing thrice more, and this time it seemed to be affected. Two of his bullets hit the monster directly in the mouth, eliciting a wordless cry of pain. It stopped, spasmed a moment, and collapsed to the ground, before evaporating into thin air.

Bond stood frozen to the spot, wondering what he had just killed. He turned to the injured wizard to offer assistance, but two of the man's friends were already helping him up. "You have no place here, Muggle! Get out of our world, and take that blasted thing in your hand with you!"

He could have broken the man's nose, but Bond simply stood there a moment longer. He nodded to the man, glanced around at the stunned crowd, then made his way back to the ice cream parlor. The shock of the crowd, which was slowly returning to the day's activities in a flurry of whispers and pointing, enabled him to finish his ice cream and consider the present situation.

---

"A Nobody," Kingsley told Bond back at Room -18 during the meeting. "It was a Nobody you saw in the village."

"And just what in blazes is a Nobody?" Bond asked impatiently.

Mrs. Weasley interrupted them. "James, what on EARTH were you doing in Diagon Alley with your gun? Everyone I saw today asked me if I had heard about the mad Muggle shooting up Flourish and Blotts!"

"Peace, Molly. There is more to the story than that." He turned back to Bond. "This Nobody you saved the poor wizard from is a being from another world - the shell of someone who has lost his heart. That's why it attacked the wizard's chest - it wanted to get at his heart."

"And are all the worlds bothered by these things?" Bond asked. He was quite sure he didn't want to have to deal with these nightmare creatures for the entire mission.

Kingsley thought a moment. "No, but it's a safe bet that one of our enemies in the Palace sent it. I've seen them before, but this is the first time one has dared to attack Diagon Alley. A boy named Sora and some friends of his passed through here not long ago, and they seemed to know all about them, but they've been missing several days now."

Mrs. Weasley had turned as pale as the Nobody from Flourish and Blotts. "So there are going to be more of these things here?"

"Most likely," Kingsley responded. "The enemy is getting bolder. From now on, nobody leaves the room alone. We don't know how many there are."

The next few days were stifling in their tension. Hardly anyone left the room, and when someone did it was always in a group of at least three. Order members patrolled the village in pairs, keeping watch for any more Nobodies. The reports of attacks were growing in number, and each seemed to occur closer to the Leaky Cauldron.

On Sunday night, the evening before the attack, the Nobodies found them.

Around one in the morning, a horrible scream pierced the night like a carving knife. It shook everyone awake, and in a matter of moments the Order was on full alert, combing the hallways for the enemy.

They needn't have searched.

The Nobodies swarmed up the stairs, leaping from wall to ceiling to floor at terrifying speed. Fred and George were the first to raise the alarm, running back to Room -18 shouting "PORTKEYS! GET THE PORTKEYS!" and firing jets of red light at the white horde behind them. Bond and the others were near the room, and clustered around the door, firing magic and bullets at the advancing creatures. Some fell and dissipated, but for every Nobody they dispatched, three more seemed to take their place. It soon became clear that the Order was outnumbered, and they crowded into Room -18, locking and barring the door behind them.

Kingsley took charge of the situation. "Don't worry about your belongings! All you need is your wand and the clothes on your back! They'll be in any-" He was cut off by the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood from the meeting room. Bond sprinted toward the sound, past Lupin and Tonks, each carrying boxes of old boots for some odd reason.

The sight that greeted him there was one of abject terror. Great armored and hulking Nobodies wielding massive swords had destroyed the window wall behind the meeting table and half the table itself, and were tearing down the rest of the room. Behind them, Diagon Alley was in flames. Two of them saw Bond rush in, and leaped down from the chandelier to meet him. Bond drew his gun, emptying a full round into the beasts. Most of the bullets bounced off their armor, but one found its way through an opening in a helmet. The unfortunate Nobody staggered back, accidentally throwing its sword through the double doors of the tearoom.

Another crash. "THE FRONT DOOR'S DOWN!" Without a second thought, Bond ran from the growing horde of giant Nobodies, meeting the rest of the party in the front room. The Nobodies were swarming in like evil, ivory-colored insects, covering the walls as they advanced on the assembled Order.

James was pulled roughly into a circle of wizards and witches. All were gathered around one of the old boots Tonks and Lupin had had with them, and Bond could see there were several other circles like his. Kingsley stood across from him.

"Right! On three, touch your Portkey! Scatter once you touch down, and we'll meet at the Factory Room! St. Giles High Street!"

What was a Portkey? Bond didn't know.

"ONE!"

"WHAT'S A PORTKEY?"

A Nobody landed in the center of the room, turning this way and that, looking for its next victim.

"TWO!"

"TOUCH THE BOOT!" Mrs. Weasley shouted back at Bond.

Bond wondered at this. The armored Nobodies crashed into the room, and his thoughts were cut off.

"THREE!"

Bond didn't even think about it. He and the rest of the circle touched the Portkey.

A Nobody raised his sword.

Bond felt something invisible lift him off his feet.

And they were off.


	8. From Hogwarts With Love

Bond didn't even think about it. He and the rest of the circle touched the Portkey.

A Nobody raised his sword.

Bond felt something invisible lift him off his feet.

And they were off.

---

Counting from James Bond's encounter in Diagon Alley, it was a matter of days before the Nobodies found the Leaky Cauldron. When the silvery-white beasts struck, they laid waste to Room -18 and much of nearby Diagon Alley in a matter of minutes, forcing the severely outnumbered Order of the Phoenix to retreat. Fortunately for the Order, the Portkeys whisked them off in a matter of seconds; from early Monday morning on, the task at hand was to regroup, and wait till day - it was assumed that the Nobodies wouldn't risk a more public attack on the Muggle world quite yet.

"St. Giles...that's a bit of a walk, but I can get us there." Bond remembered the way almost exactly; the walk from Gordon Street was in fact on the route he had taken the previous week to meet Arthur Weasley. Bond could hardly believe that that had only happened a week ago; the things he had seen and done in that time felt like ages past. Returning to the Factory Room, where it all began, felt to him like a leap back in time.

James Bond, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and most of the Weasley clan had teleported - "for lack of a better word for...whatever that was," Bond thought - to what turned out to be the roof of the Bloomsbury Theatre, near the rear of the building to minimize the risk of exposure. Even if they were seen descending the fire escape, what police force would believe that six people had appeared out of nowhere on top of a theatre?

They were a strange sight for the few pedestrians at this hour - Bond was in his usual government-issued suit, while the rest of the party wore their robes - Kingsley in dark red and brown that day, the Weasleys in black robes with varying amounts of patches. But the group's attire was certainly the last thing on anyone's mind during the walk - Fred and George were discussing the narrow escape from the Nobodies in low voices, and Mr. Weasley had an arm around his sobbing wife, trying to console her after the recent shock - "It's all right, Molly - Ron and Ginny got out with Harry and Lupin and Tonks, I saw them" - without much success. Kingsley was all business at the moment, laying down their attack strategy for Bond.

"Everyone needs to get some rest today - we leave at ten-thirty in the evening. It's about twenty minutes' walk to the Palace," Kingsley informed Bond as they left the theatre behind them.

Bond looked at Kingsley like he was out of his mind. "We're walking there? What do we do, knock on the front door and wait for the Nobodies to invite us in?"

"Close," Kingsley replied. We can't Apparate - teleport - Voldemort's sure to have wards in place. Broom travel presents too much of a risk of detection, and V already told us that the Death Eaters patrol the tunnels. We cast spells to mask our footsteps and camouflage ourselves, enter through the front, sneak up the side of the entrance hall, and ambush the enemy that way."

Bond wasn't entirely comfortable with this idea, but conceded that it was worth a shot - it wasn't every day infiltration missions employed cloaking magic. Maybe it would be the difference between success and failure. He wondered briefly what V had been doing all this time.

They were halfway to the Factory Room when the conversation turned to killing. "And this Voldemort - how do we deal with him? Isn't he supposed to be the Merlin of your time?"

Kingsley shook his head. "Poor comparison, James - Voldemort isn't half as powerful as Merlin was. But he still poses a massive threat. Besides his skill, he possesses the ability to cheat death."

Bond nearly tripped over the curb as they crossed a narrow street. "How in God's name is that possible?" he asked, incredulous.

"Every time one commits a murder," Kingsley replied, "his soul is split in two. A powerful wizard can imprison stray bits of his soul in everyday objects, creating phylacteries from which they can regenerate should they fall. We call these foul artifacts horcruxes, and Voldemort possessed six that we know of at the height of his power."

Bond worked the math out in a second or two, then sighed. "We're supposed to kill him seven times? How on earth would we do that? He'd be bound to strike us a severe blow before we got him twice!"

"Don't be so sure, Bond," Kingsley replied. "We've managed to find and destroy five of them-"

"All of them," Arthur cut in from behind them. "Got that blasted pet snake of his protecting the Muggle Prime Minister back in August."

"Precisely," Kingsley confirmed. "The problem is, we have no idea whether he's created any more. It seems unlikely - he has a special fascination with the number seven. Six Horcruxes would have his soul in seven pieces, the last within him. But desperate times call for desperate measures."

"We'll take our chances," replied Bond. "What about the Nobodies?"

"What about them?"

"You yourself said that the convergence was in its early stages, and the first convergences are seamless. Nobodies obviously don't belong here, and I wouldn't exactly describe their appearance as seamless. Someone had to have brought them here, and in numbers."

The gravity of Bond's analysis visibly weighed the moment down as the Order members turned onto Denmark Street, scant minutes from their destination. None of them could fathom such a horde of Nobodies crossing the borders between worlds. What if whoever brought them had summoned - could summon - more? And if not, how fast were the borders coming down?

These questions haunted Bond's group all the way down to the Factory Room. Entering the pub/inn and finding their new (though cramped) headquarters upstairs in Room 3 lifted their spirits somewhat, for they were greeted with cheers (albeit quiet and guarded) from the assembled Order. The other groups had arrived before Bond and Kingsley, bereft as they were of Muggle secret agents and therefore able to Apparate without leaving men behind. A headcount revealed that everyone had gotten out of Room -18 alive - a miraculous development indeed, given the sheer numbers of Nobodies in the ambush.

Embraces and greetings were exchanged between the newcomers and the welcomers (it was several minutes before Mrs. Weasley would allow herself to be separated from Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny), and after all were settled in their new location, Kingsley called them to order.

"James and I discussed our strategy on the way here. This changes nothing - we attack tonight. Stay in the groups you came here in, and take different routes. We meet in front of the palace no later than eleven tonight. Get some sleep during the day - we need all the energy we can spare. Lupin, Tonks - you're first watch. Rotating shifts every two hours until seven. You're all dismissed."

The wizards and witches dispersed - some to sleep off the night's excitement, some to try to make sense of it all. Harry and the other teenage magicians were in the latter group, which Bond joined after a minute or so.

"Kingsley told you about the horcruxes, did he?" Fred's comment, directed at Bond, was more of a statement than a question.

Bond nodded grimly. "I still can't get my mind around it - how one splits up his soul."

Hermione had an answer. "With the evilest of intent. It's really powerful Dark magic to be able to do that - I found the spell and it's got all sorts of horrible steps to it, nothing you'd want to hear."

Ron made an offhand comment questioning Hermione's interest in the spell, which earned him a nasty glare. Ginny clung to Harry, who spoke not a word - he looked like his mind was elsewhere.

Nobody would find out where until it was too late.

---

"My disappointment doubles for each day the Order is not exterminated. Today, Saïx, you have tripled it."

Voldemort was in a foul mood that morning in the Palace basements. Parliament was in session that day, necessitating a relocation. Littlefinger had left on Friday, to prepare for guests back in King's Landing. Amelia had returned to her world on Tuesday, and hadn't been heard from since. Now it was Monday morning, and Ramiel, Saïx, and Voldemort remained in London. Their assassination plot had been put on hold for the moment, as Ramiel had deemed the elimination of the Order of the Phoenix a higher priority.

Voldemort, of course, deemed it the highest priority. His anger with Saïx was tangible - the previous night's attack on Room -18 had come tantalizingly close to success. The Order had scattered, but no casualties had been inflicted.

Naturally, Voldemort considered it a catastrophic failure.

Saïx merely regarded the Dark Lord with a stern glare. "Do not forget with whom you are speaking, snake. Organization XIII has murdered entire worlds for less."

"And I have murdered for nothing at all!" Voldemort shot back, fighting to contain the urge to kill the cloaked man where he stood.

"SILENCE!" roared a voice like a crash of thunder.

Both Voldemort and Saïx turned to the speaker. Ramiel had clearly had enough. His golden eyes glowed as bright as his ivory robe as he spoke.

"I did not come here to listen to my allies fight like dogs over a bone. The enemy attacks tonight, and we must prepare for their arrival. Voldemort, Saïx - I trust your forces are prepared?"

Voldemort seethed for a moment, livid at being talked down to; then he responded. "The Death Eaters are prepared. They know the upper floors better than any Muggle minister. I'm afraid I cannot say the same of Saïx."

Saïx half-smiled. "My Berserker Nobodies need no such knowledge. The entrance hall and adjoining areas are mine. Should they fail to halt the Order's advance, we shall rely on you to finish them off, Lord Voldemort." The word 'lord' was of purest sarcasm and contempt. The pale, snakelike wizard glared at his co-conspirator.

Ramiel nodded in approval. "Excellent." Then he turned his attention to the shadows in a corner of the room, Voldemort and Saïx following his gaze. "I trust you've upheld your end of the bargain, V?"

The masked man leaned casually against the wall, almost unseen in the darkness. "As long as you keep the tunnels clear for my departure, I'll deliver the Order to you. All you need do is wait."

Ramiel smiled for the first time in days. He crossed his arms, sparks playing about his hands. "That we shall, my friend. That we shall."


	9. For Your Spies Only

Previously:

The masked man leaned casually against the wall, almost unseen in the darkness. "As long as you keep the tunnels clear for my departure, I'll deliver the Order to you. All you need do is wait."

Ramiel smiled for the first time in days. He crossed his arms, sparks playing about his hands. "That we shall, my friend. That we shall."

---

Blissfully, or rather tensely, unaware of this exchange, the Order kept constantly vigilant throughout the night. Lupin and Tonks handed off to the Weasleys at three in the morning, followed by James Bond and Harry at five.

All in all, Bond thought it rather boring work. He and the boy wizard would switch positions every ten minutes or so - one on the roof of the Factory Room, watching the streets, and one on the fire escape, watching the alleys. It was the most action either of them saw that evening, and more than once Bond caught himself wishing for another encounter with the mysterious Nobodies, if only for something to do.

"_I could handle a few_," he thought to himself around six, perched on the edge of the roof, "_one or two of the big ones, maybe five of the smaller. Now that I know where to aim-_"

"Anything yet?"

The sudden interrruption of his thoughts startled Bond almost to the point of falling off the roof. He whirled, gun in hand, pointed it at-

Harry, standing there in front of him, a shocked expression on his face, with his wand at the ready.

Bond instantly relaxed, lowering his gun. "You startled me."

"Sorry," Harry responded, lowering his wand in kind.

They stood there a moment longer, awkward silence hanging in the air like fog. Bond finally broke the ice:

"Is it already time to switch?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing's coming. I paid the twins to take over my spot for the last hour. I hate waiting for nothing."

"Likewise." Bond drifted off for a moment, then remembered where he was and continued. "This Voldemort - who exactly is he? Kingsley gave me the basics, but nothing very specific."

Harry's gaze flicked to the ground, then back to Bond. "A friend of mine put it best - he went about as bad as you can go. He's a really powerful Dark wizard, and he hates Muggles. People like you."

Bond decided that this knowledge was not at all comforting. "And what's your relation to him? Didn't you say something about seeing him in your dreams?"

Harry grimaced, and replied in weary tones, clearly uncomfortable. "He killed a lot of people - including my parents. When I was a year old. He tried to kill me, but somehow he couldn't. I don't really understand why. I'm kind of famous for it - though sometimes I wish I weren't."

Bond could see that he had hit a nerve, but his question hadn't been fully answered yet. "What about your dreams?"

Harry was silent a moment. Then, choosing his words carefully: "I don't really understand that either. Some kind of...link, I guess. Voldemort lost a bit of his soul trying to kill me. He left this scar-" here Harry indicated the lightning bolt scar on his forehead - "and I think that's something to do with it."

Bond accepted this, even though it wasn't much of an answer. "If it's any consolation, I don't understand much of this myself."

Harry nodded. "I just want to finish this."

There was silence for a while. Bond and Harry watched the cars pass, listening to the sounds of the city in the early morning - and, around 6:20, Fred and George practice-dueling in the alley. A small explosion put an end to the noise. Neither Harry nor Bond cared to investigate.

The first rays of sunlight illuminated London around 6:30; around this time, Bond spoke again.

"I'm sorry about your parents."

Harry glanced at him. "Don't apologize. You didn't know."

"Mine died, too. When I was eleven."

"How? I mean, if you feel like-"

"No, it's all right." Bond paused for about fifteen seconds. "It was a mountaineering accident."

More silence. "Were they good people?" This was Harry.

"As far as I knew," replied Bond.

Harry considered this. "At least you knew them."

Bond grunted his acknowledgement. "I'm sorry about your parents," he said again, after a minute.

"I told you, don't apologize," Harry said. "We'll avenge them soon enough."

They ended the conversation on this note. They watched the road for another half hour or so, the sun rising ever higher in the east, in conjunction with the waking of the city. Around seven, Fred called to them.

"Oi! Lovebirds! Watch is over, come and get some breakfast!"

Harry stood, crossing the roof. Bond followed him a second later. Descending the fire escape to the window of Room 3, they found the twins waiting for them, grinning as usual.

"Thank goodness you're alive!" George said, with mock relief. "We were afraid the pigeons had got you."

Harry chuckled. "We didn't see anything worse. What about you?"

George responded in the most serious of tones. "It was horrible, Harry - they swarmed into the alley like flies! It was all we could do to hold them off."

Fred elbowed him. "Not the rats, mate - he means the Nobodies. Nobody was there, and we mean that in a good way."

Harry laughed. "Good. Breakfast?"

"Scrambled eggs."

James Bond smiled. "My favorite."

"Not if our sister cooked it," Fred answered.

"Come on - we'd better see if the fire's out," George put in, not missing a beat.

They left, making their way down to the ground floor. Harry followed them, when Bond called out to him. "Harry."

The young wizard turned. "Sir?"

"Good luck tonight."

Harry nodded. "You too. I'll be glad when this is over."

---

Breakfast that morning was not, in fact, the holocaust Fred and George had predicted. Under the watchful eye of her mother, Ginny had avoided burning the eggs (and, indeed, the pub) and managed a meal that many among the Order considered a pleasant start to what would be a grim day. When breakfast was over, Kingsley stood to announce the day's itinerary.

"Good morning to all of you." He was met with a chorus of "Good morning"s from the assembly. "I'm sure all of you are tired from last night, and from today's early start. I advise you to get some rest today; other than that, the morning and afternoon are yours. Just remember that we leave for the Palace precisely at ten-thirty. Split up into groups of six, and approach from different directions - we meet out front by eleven. In and out by morning, ladies and gentlemen."

---

Apart from the evening's intended course, the day went as planned. Most of the Order retired to the second floor to sleep, along with Bond; the Factory Room unfortunately lacked a shooting range, and he was tired anyway. Kingsley had stayed to discuss matters with Lupin and Mr. Weasley before heading to bed, and most of November fourth was spent in quiet, apart from the Muggle patrons of the Factory Room.

It was afternoon when anyone came downstairs again - around two, James Bond went for lunch, respectfully declining to join in the dirty limerick contest about to begin. He was just starting on his fish when an old man sat down across from him.

He had dark glasses on, completely obscuring his eyes, and wore formal slacks and a green button-down shirt. His glasses were the only distinguishing feature about him, and it was from behind them that the man stared at Bond while the secret agent ate.

Twice Bond looked up from his meal to see if the man was still there, and indeed he was. This made him both uncomfortable and suspicious - who was this mystery person? What did he want? Why was he here?

The old man spoke before Bond could wonder any more. "James Bond."

James froze, fork halfway to plate. "You know me?"

"Your name." The man paused. In the background, an accordion had started up - the dirty limerick contest had begun.

"_THERE ONCE WAS A MAN FROM MADRAS,  
WHOSE BALLS WERE BOTH MADE OUT OF BRASS_!" sang one of the patrons, to the delight of the rest.

"Let's talk somewhere private," the old man suggested.

James had no idea what was going on, or who the man was, but decided to play along. Maybe he was connected to the villains, and maybe he would be amenable to interrogation.

"One condition: We do it in the upstairs hall." James Bond knew an ambush when he saw one, and wasn't about to let things get out of control.

"_WHEN THEY JANGLED TOGETHER-_"

Surprisingly, the old man accepted. "Off we go, then." He stood, and motioned for Bond to follow, which he did.

"_THEY MADE STORMY WEATHER,  
AND LIGHTNING SHOT OUT OF-_"

The rest was lost to Bond and his companion as they climbed the stairs, Bond shutting the door behind them. The old man turned, and fixed Bond with a grave expression (as far as Bond could tell, with the glasses on).

"I've been watching you for some time now, Bond - you and the rest of the Order. I'm here to tell you that this isn't something you can do alone."

Bond wasn't in the mood for mystery. "Who are you? Are you MI6? CIA? Tell me who sent you."

The old man ignored him. "The people you're up against are only the beginning. There are more like Ramiel, and worse-"

Bond would not listen. He moved fast, grabbing the old man and attempting pin him to the wall. But the mysterious man was surprisingly fast and strong for his age - he broke Bond's hold on him, grabbing him by the neck and holding him at arm's length.

"Listen to me. All I want to do is help. So I'll keep this short: If you manage to survive the night, you'll need a step in the right direction." He produced a small business card, tucking it in the breast pocket of the struggling Bond. "This is that step. After all is said and done, take the card and rip it in half. I'll know."

Try as he might, Bond couldn't escape his assailant's grip. A voice from down the hall distracted him momentarily: "James! Where are you?"

The old man heard it too. He set Bond down roughly, turning to leave. "Good luck," he whispered over his shoulder.

Lupin emerged from Room 3 at that moment, and smiled upon seeing James in the hallway. "There you are! We're looking for a fourth to play cards with, and-" He stopped, seeing the shaken state of the Muggle before him. "What happened?"

James looked behind, searching for any sign that the old man had been there. But there was nothing. He had gone. He turned back to Lupin. "Nothing. You just surprised me."

Lupin held his gaze for a moment, and then nodded. "Not my intent. Cards?"

Bond swallowed, then answered. "Deal me in."

Lupin smiled. "Excellent. Come on, then - we're all ready."

"I'll only be a second."

Lupin nodded, turned and left, disappearing back into Room 3. James was left in the hallway, wondering what on earth had just happened. After a moment, he remembered the card in his pocket. He pulled it out, half-expecting it to explode upon doing so. But nothing of the kind happened. It was a plain white card, inscribed with a mysterious triangular symbol and an equally mysterious name:

**FORCAS**.


	10. Live and Let's Go

Previously:

Lupin nodded, turned and left, disappearing back into Room 3. James was left in the hallway, wondering what on earth had just happened. After a moment, he remembered the card in his pocket. He pulled it out, half-expecting it to explode upon doing so. But nothing of the kind happened. It was a plain white card, inscribed with a mysterious triangular symbol and an equally mysterious name:

FORCAS.

---

In all his years of service for MI6, James Bond had never known anyone named Forcas. He had never dealt with any organization calling itself Forcas, nor had the name ever popped up in casual conversation.

Could it possibly be an acronym?

James tested this theory as he followed Lupin back into Room 3; after considering and discarding "French Organization Ruthlessly Castrating All Subordinates," "Future Of Red Cloud And Sacramento," and "For Our Rights, Comfort, And Stability," he was forced to concede that the meaning of "Forcas" was currently a mystery to him.

But what could he do about it now? The mysterious old man hadn't told him anything else - except that there were more like Ramiel, and to rip the card in half once he was defeated. Who was Ramiel? What did he mean, "more like him?" Bond decided that if Ramiel was a man's name, and if they knew who Voldemort was, that narrowed it down to the man in white V had described, the medieval-looking man, or the blue-haired man. Without a conclusive answer to the first question, it was impossible to discern the potential consequences of the second.

So where did that leave Bond? The attack on the Palace was the only immediate course of action - the one that was already planned and held minimal risk of exposure. "And if a lead presents itself once we kill Ramiel, whoever he is, I follow it," he decided. "Let events unfold and make sure they don't unfold you."

He sat down to play cards with Lupin, Dedalus Diggle, and Arthur Weasley; due to the unorthodox events of the past several days, he was less than surprised to discover that it was not the kind of card game he was used to. "Exploding Snap," it was called; it appeared to be a turn-based variant of Muggle card-matching games, but the cards would spontaneously combust if you took too long flipping over a second one, if they were flipped too many times, if-

In truth, Bond never quite mastered the circumstances under which the cards would explode. He chose instead to focus on finding matched pairs and memorization, persisting in the face of several minor burns. While this approach left him with more battle scars than his opponents, he nevertheless ended up with the second highest number of matches (which Diggle passed off as beginners' luck).

The day went by in much the same way for all involved. Most of everyone's time pre-attack was spent in trivial pursuits such as the card game, last-minute preparations (Hermione spent hours buried in books of military strategy purchased from a Muggle bookshop), or conversation; Bond himself had an enlightening discussion with Kingsley regarding the merits of Aurors (Dark wizard catchers) versus Muggle 00's such as himself. Though topics such as risk factors, day-to-day responsibilities, and general job description were debated back and forth, at the end of the day neither could quite agree which had the more dangerous job.

The day wore on slowly; for some it was a blessing, for others a curse. Many of the party seemed not to want it to end, dreading the events that the night would bring and wondering if these were their final hours with their friends and loved ones. Bond, Lupin, and a handful of others viewed the attack with grim determination, wanting to get it over with so they could all get on with their lives. Perhaps Bond couldn't quite relate to the conflict; Voldemort had, after all, done far more damage to the wizarding world, and he had never ever heard the name before now. But if the destruction of Diagon Alley and Room -18 was any indication, Voldemort and his allies posed a grave threat to national security - perhaps even international security.

"It was in our best interests, wasn't it, M?" he thought as the party made final preparations that evening.

Dinner that evening was a tense affair; though the assembled witches and wizards (and Muggle) of the Order tried to alleviate the growing sense of foreboding with idle conversation and attempts at lightheartedness, nobody in the Factory Room's rented-out dining area could deny what lay ahead of them: a confrontation with Voldemort and all his forces, and as many as four of his allies. It was an immutable truth that they were outnumbered, but with any luck they would not be outmatched.

How they would manage that was the main topic of conversation at Bond's table, a large, six-seater booth off in the northwest corner of the Factory Room. It was not filled to capacity; besides James Bond, the booth hosted Kingsley, Lupin, and Tonks. Despite its not being filled to capacity, the booth buzzed with enough talk for its maximum seating. Kingsley maintained that a head-on approach was the only viable option, while both Tonks and Lupin argued for a more low-profile entrance.

"Remus, I must insist again that you hear me out. An attack in the hours preceding dawn would indeed provide greater cover of darkness, but we have no idea how long we have. If the sun rises in the middle of a fight-"

"Exactly why I propose we attack at two in the morning, Kingsley!" retorted Lupin, clearly losing his patience. "If we're strong enough to deal with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, we're strong enough to take down any allies he can rally against us! Win or lose, we do it quickly and quietly!"

"What sense does it make, strolling in through the front door?" interjected Tonks. "It's like flying through a thunderstorm on your way to the lions' den! By the time we get anywhere the enemy will have gotten half of us, and-"

"Well, what other option do we have?" Bond asked irritably. He was rather tired of the argument; Kingsley had decided on their plan of action earlier in the day, and now was too late to change it. "I don't claim to know anything about magic. But if the palace is magically protected, as Kingsley said, from flight and such, going in on foot woudl probably be the easiest way. Besides, who expects their enemy to march up and use the front entrance?"

Lupin shook his head. "Unfortunately, James, that may be exactly what Voldemort is trying to make us do. Now, if we used the Underground..."

"Remus, the Death Eaters will be patrolling the tunnels; V has assured me of that, and-"

Tonks slammed her hand down on the table, shaking their plates and glasses. "Why do you trust him? I think I speak with experience when I say that someone who hides their appearance..."

James rolled his eyes, seeing that they weren't getting anywhere and letting his gaze drift around the room. Fred and George were deep in conversation at the end of the central table, clearly engaged in a serious discussion of strategy; whether it was for infiltration or combat, James could not tell. Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys shared their table, trying to keep what could be their last dinner together as lively as possible. Even so, Hermione had tears in her eyes, and the Weasley parents (who faced away from Bond) were holding hands under the table.

The scene was similar all around the room; friends and family talked as if they had been separated for years, attempting to make their last night together a happy one. Beneath the smiles and the laughter lurked the knowledge that at ten-thirty that night, nobody would be safe anymore. The mission they would set out to complete would in all likelihood carry a high cost in human lives, and every life in this room was at risk.

Conversely, James Bond was himself spending the evening among people he had only known for a week. But as far as the objectives were concerned, the conditions in which he was spending it were business as usual.

Almost.

At ten-fifteen, Kingsley stood and called the room to attention. "Finish your dinner, ladies and gentlemen. In fifteen minutes we depart. Remember to take different routes in groups of six, and arrive at the gates by eleven. From there, stick together; never let yourself get caught alone down a dark hallway. We work our way through the building section by section; the cleanup should be done by morning.

"As our good friend Alastor Moody would say, were he here this evening: CONSTANT VIGILANCE."


	11. The Spy Who Tricked Me

At ten-fifteen, Kingsley stood and called the room to attention. "Finish your dinner, ladies and gentlemen. In fifteen minutes we depart. Remember to take different routes in groups of six, and arrive at the gates by eleven. From there, stick together; never let yourself get caught alone down a dark hallway. We work our way through the building section by section; the cleanup should be done by morning.

"As our good friend Alastor Moody would say, were he here this evening: CONSTANT VIGILANCE."

---

With this proclamation, conversation across the various tables came to a close, giving way to tearful embraces, final goodbyes, or resolute expressions of readiness. The majority of the former two came from the Weasley family's table, as both parents and their children and friends exchanged affirmations of love and promises to watch each others' backs in the upcoming battle. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared one final kiss, as did Tonks and Lupin (to the latter's surprise, but quick acceptance).

James simply looked on, and turned to shake Kingsley's hand. "Good luck tonight. It was good to work with you, however short our time was." Given that he was still unaccustomed to the oddities of the magical world, the next part took some consideration, but James found it came easily: "I hope we can work together in the future, Kingsley. You've got a well-organized force."

Kingsley nodded, firmly shaking his Muggle guest's hand. "It is my fondest wish that this force will give us a future, James. You'll be a valuable asset and a dear friend."

Bond thanked Kingsley for his Order's hospitality; turning and crossing the room, he tapped Mr. Weasley on the shoulder. The wizard turned around, smiling when he saw his greeter. "James! All set for tonight?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. No hard feelings about the interrogation?" Bond quipped apologetically, referring to the first time he had encountered magic (and pinned Weasley to the wall in an outburst of paranoia).

Weasley looked confused for a moment, and then remembered, with a laugh (albeit a nervous one). "Don't you worry about that - it was only a misunderstanding, after all - of course, I wouldn't make a habit of it-"

"James."

This, Bond discovered, was Mrs. Weasley, looking for the first time like she didn't want to kill him. Instead, she had tears in her eyes. "I...well, if our lives are in danger, and the last thing I said to someone was that I didn't trust them..." Mrs. Weasley stammered in a repentant tone. Finally, she broke down and threw her arms around an extremely shocked James Bond, sobbing into the shoulder of his tuxedo. Bond awkwardly embraced her, not sure how to respond to this sudden change of heart.

"ALL THIS TIME YOU'VE ONLY WANTED TO HELP, AND HERE I AM, ALL BUT ACCUSING YOU OF BEING A DEATH EATER, AND IF YOU DIED-"

"Mum! Easy on the Muggle, Dad'll be jealous!" Fred called over the noise.

Mrs. Weasley quieted down then, patting Bond on the back and pulling away. Halfway through this motion, though, she whispered a final warning:

"But if any of my family dies on your watch, I'll feed you to the Nobodies."

---

Upon leaving the Factory Room at 10:30, James Bond and the Order of the Phoenix found the evening of November 4th dark, cloudy, and foreboding. The stars were completely obscured by the clouds, symptoms of the brewing of a late autumn storm. Another storm was brewing, as well - a hurricane of opposing forces, the Order of the Phoenix the warm front to the Palace of Westminster's cold front, the unsuspecting city obliviously going about its business. The streets were relatively clear that evening, making their job all the easier.

The assembled Order numbered thirty; thirty wizards and witches (and one Muggle) of highly variable ages and walks of life, but united in their goal for the evening: the elimination of the wizarding world's greatest tyrant, and a defiant stand against his otherworldly allies. This was their world, their home, and nobody, wizard or Muggle, human or no, would take it from them.

They split into five groups, James taking the most direct route, down Charing Cross Road, with Kingsley, Tonks, Lupin, and the Weasley twins, Fred and George. They made no eye contact with the other groups, which would take detours down Monmouth Street, Shaftesbury Avenue, and other roads to mitigate the damage of discovery. Conversation was limited among Bond's group, save for Fred and George, who were miming something indecipherable with their hands; they seemed to be practicing some kind of synchronized movement, but any clue as to what it was totally escaped Bond. Halfway to the Palace they caught him staring; they simply winked at him, hinting that Bond would know soon enough.

At last the Palace of Westminster was in sight, its jagged gables and towers shredding the air around it and creating an imposing silhouette against the sky over the Thames river, a clear destination for the Order. Bond's group reached the gates first, crossing the street and congregating around a nearby bus stop to blend in.

"Here we are," stated Kingsley. "The Palace of Westminster."

"The Palace of Westminster!" repeated Fred in mock awe.

"Palace of Eastminster is to your right," muttered George, earning him an elbow to the ribs from Fred.

The other groups arrived within the next five minutes, one after the other, maintaining a staggered formation to keep up a low profile (Ron's gawking at the Muggle traffic lights notwithstanding). Around eleven, once they had all arrived, Kingsley cleared his throat and spoke as Big Ben tolled the hour behind him.

"Right, then - through the gates in twos or threes, with ten seconds or so separating each entrance. V's unlocked them for us, and guarantees safe passage. Be inconspicuous - the last thing we need is a mass arrest for trespassing. Bond and I will go first; I'll cloak the entrance from the inside to make things easier."

And so they did. Bond and Kingsley checked their surroundings to make sure no one was watching, then slipped silently through the palace gates, which were indeed unlocked. As Bond moved to close the gate behind him, Kingsley motioned for him to stop. "I'm casting a spell to make it appear closed on the street side. Some things even V can't do."

"Though what I can do nevertheless remains invaluable."

The voice came from nearby; Bond whirled around, searching for its source. After a moment, he found a dagger stuck in a nearby tree. Taking this to be a sign, he looked up. Sure enough, V was perched on one of the thicker branches, his smiling mask the only part of him that stood out in the blackness of the palace grounds.

"I took the liberty of disabling the cameras and motion sensor alarms, as well. We wouldn't want a large armed force to get the wrong idea, as large armed forces are wont to do."

"How long have you been up there?" demanded Bond, slightly miffed at having been so easily caught off guard.

"As long as I needed to be. It looks like your little friends have arrived, so the necessity has passed." V leaped out of the tree, silently sailing ten feet through the air and descending on the neatly trimmed grass below. "Good evening, Kingsley," he said, straightening from his landing.

Kingsley finished casting the spell, and turned to V, greeting him with a polite nod as more Order members filed through the gates behind him. "Wonderful of you to join us, V. I trust the past week or so has been productive?"

James fixed V with an appraising gaze, searching for anything in his voice (for lack of facial expressions) that would betray ill intent. But V remained cool and collected as ever: "My dear Kingsley, I make a point of living my days productively. Did you know that an exquisite chandelier hangs in the Central Lobby? I spent the morning weakening it; you never know when you might require the aid of...benevolent architecture."

Kingsley chuckled, motioning for V and Bond to stand at his sides. "You've been exceedingly useful to our cause, V. I can't thank you enough."

As the last of the Order entered the grounds, and Kingsley instructed them on their formations and strategy, V silently added: "As have you to mine."

The motley crew of secret agent, masked man, and Order made their way up the path to the entrance unmolested by Muggle police, Death Eaters, or Nobodies. "The police have been conveniently called away - something about a robbery on Baker Street." Bond wondered if V had had a hand in this; it unnerved him that there was no way to tell. V's explanation didn't include the Nobodies or Death Eaters, which also struck Bond as odd. As the group approached the entrance, he kept a hand in his tuxedo, the feel of his pistol in its pocket a reminder that the situation would never be beyond his control.

V moved to the head of the party, reaching the massive, ornately carved door first. "I unlocked this one too. I'll slip in first to cover your entrance. If they try anything, they'll have five inches of steel to answer to." V held up two daggers in a V shape for emphasis. As he opened the door and vanished inside, Bond distinctly heard Hermione mutter "Honestly!"

The door opened wider; V motioned them through one by one, directing them to various positions within the entrance hall. Bond was one of the first to enter, and took up a post behind a pillar close to the doors. He drew his gun, keeping it ready and watching for any sign of enemy movement. A great hall stretched out before them, flanked by smaller corridors, all leading into darkness unlit by any of the wall fixtures. Bond wondered momentarily whether it was normal procedure to leave the lights off, or whether the darkness came from some greater source.

The sound of the doors closing drew Bond's attention to the entrance. V stood between the pillars flanking the door, looking left and right. "Is all our company assembled?" he asked in a loud whisper. Affirmatives came back from the hidden Order, tensed for any ambush.

V nodded, his mask smiling mockingly at them all. "Good."

Then he ran, straight for the great hall on the opposite side from the doors. "Seal the exits!" he shouted, and immediately Bond knew they had been tricked. He stepped out from behind the pillar to take aim, but leaped back to dodge jets of red light that erupted from the side corridors and the main hall. He looked around wildly, and saw the windows and main doors wrapped in thick, ethereal chains glowing a dull violet. Spells from the Order flew in all directions - half at V, the other half flying haphazardly down the darkened hallways, none making any discernibly useful impact.

V simply stood in place, the jets of multicolored light bouncing off of him and taking chunks out of the walls and statues. He threw off his tattered, spell-damaged cloak, revealing body armor with mirrored surfaces. All around him, shadowy figures in black cloaks and emotionless silver masks advanced through the hallways, closing in on the Order and forcing them to the center of the room. None of them fired a shot, only blocking anything cast at them. As Bond turned his back, quickly stashed his gun in his pocket, and retreated with the rest of the Order, he guessed that these were the Death Eaters he had heard so much about.

"Good show, gentlemen. No attacking quite yet - they should all be alive for this." V's proclamation was met with cries of "Traitor!" and "Double-crosser!" and various other exclamations of shock and anger. As the Death Eaters closed in, cutting off any escape route, V laughed - a derisive, condescending sound that echoed off the high walls and was multiplied tenfold, driving home the reality the Order's humiliating misstep.

After ten seconds of that, V quieted down, drawing one of his daggers and spinning it in his hand as he paced back and forth in front of his captives. His voice echoed again, a Shakespearean taunt filling the ears of all present:

"O most pernicious woman!  
O villain, villain, smiling, damnèd villain!  
My tables—meet it is I set it down  
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain—  
At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark."


	12. Moonmaster

V quieted down, drawing one of his daggers and spinning it in his hand as he paced back and forth in front of his captives. His voice echoed again, a Shakespearean taunt filling the ears of all present:

"O most pernicious woman!  
O villain, villain, smiling, damnèd villain!  
My tables—meet it is I set it down  
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain—  
At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark."

---

James Bond was not alone in glaring daggers at V as the Death Eaters escorted their prisoners deeper into the Palace. His gun and their wands had been confiscated, leaving them unarmed as well as outnumbered. V was at the head of the procession, fully intending to present his captives to Voldemort and the others in style. The light from the city streets accentuated this facet of his character, lighting up his mirrored armor and making ever-shifting panels of light play across the walls as he strode triumphantly forward. Bond wondered for a moment whether he could take him down in this situation. _"If I tackled him, using his mirrored body as a human shield-"_

As if reading his thoughts, V announced "Were I any of you, I wouldn't dream of attempting escape. The Death Eaters were under strict orders to capture each and every one of you alive, but the Dark Lord said nothing about what they were to do en route."

Ron scoffed. "En route to where, you slimy, two-faced-" "Ron!" Hermione shushed him.

V chuckled, turning his head to see her. "Peace, dear lady. You all have a right to know where you are to die." It was Hermione who had to be restrained this time; Ron and Harry held her back, keeping her from charging V as three Death Eaters warningly held their wands on the trio.

V faced forward once more, and answered Ron's question. "We entered by way of the Victoria Tower Gardens, through the Sovereign's Entrance at the base of the southwest tower. The room we are currently leaving is the Royal Gallery. To your left and right you will see exquisite depictions of the Battles of Trafalgar and Waterloo, which I believe were-"

"Kindly skip the tour, V," interrupted Lupin sourly. "Where are we going, and why?"

V turned around, walking backwards and maintaining a constant pace, his smiling mask unceasingly mocking the Order as he spoke. "In only a few minutes we shall reach the Central Lobby, there to rendezvous with Lord Voldemort and his remaining colleagues. Littlefinger and Amelia, unfortunately, could not be with us this evening, as they had pressing matters to attend to on their worlds. But Ramiel tells a good story."

They were halfway through the Chamber of the House of Lords at this point. The deserted seats, occupied during the day by the United Kingdom's parliament, loomed silently on either side, bearing silent witness to the parade of humiliation that occupied the room's central walkway. V continued: "That was the where. The why shall come when we have reached our destination."

In a handful of minutes they did, entering the ornately furnished Central Lobby at precisely 11:20. The octagonal room was a study in grandeur; a colossal chandelier hung in the center, and mosaics representing the patron saints of England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland decorated the walls above the four entryways. Two statues flanked each entryway, and between each mosaic were massive windows to bathe the entire room in sunlight during the day, but which now showed only the darkness of the stormy night.

The Death Eaters and the Order stopped in the first half of the room, while V crossed to the center and lifted his gaze to the mosaic across from him. "Voldemort! Saïx! Ramiel! Your visitors have arrived!"

Immediately, there was a popping noise as Lord Voldemort Apparated into the room, a wicked smile dominating his wicked face as he moved to stand on V's left. His jubilant expression was contradicted by the cold inevitability in his eyes. "You won't be able to do that yourself," he announced to the prisoners. "I have wards in place to ensure it."

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, a portal of swirling blackness appeared beneath the window on V's right. Saïx emerged from the impenetrable dark, a dangerous smirk on his scarred face. A massive claymore materialized in his right hand, as long as he was tall and possessing a great seven-pointed starburst for its point. "Do not forget, Voldemort, that it was I who first made contact with our masked friend. Without me, I daresay you would have had a far more difficult job. Aren't you supposed to be upstairs with the rest of your followers?"

Voldemort scowled, his pale hand tightening around his ivory wand. "I consider it my right - my duty, rather - to preside over the execution of my greatest adversaries."

Bolts of lightning suddenly issued forth from the once-darkened wall fixtures, striking the floor directly in front of the other entryway. When the blinding flash of their impact subsided, Ramiel stood on the scorched marble, his pure white robe shimmering as the symbols thereon continually changed and twisted.

V fell to one knee, his mirrored armor glinting in the light of Ramiel's attire. "Lord Ramiel. Ever the showman, I see."

Ramiel smirked. "Rise, V, and step aside. I wish to see these intruders face to face." V complied, and white replaced black as Ramiel crossed to the center of the room. He surveyed the assembled Order and Death Eaters - the latter with approval, the former with smug contempt.

"So this is the famous Order of the Phoenix." Ramiel turned to Voldemort, a patronizing expression lending a taunting flavor to his words. "The very Order that has troubled you for so long, Voldemort, brought to beg for their lives in weeks. Do you begin to grasp the benefits of cooperation?"

Voldemort smiled again, but his eyes retained their coldness. "Are you suggesting, Ramiel, that I was incapable of ensnaring them myself?" (Here Saïx mouthed "Yes.")

Ramiel shook his head. "I was merely commenting on the invaluable services performed for us by the masked man to my right."

"Services he had ostensibly performed for us," cut in Kingsley Shacklebolt suddenly. His normally calm face was contorted in fury.

V approached him, unsheathing a dagger and spinning it in his hand as before. "That's the beauty of it. I never needed to alter any facet of my behavior. Your little plans fit right in with their little plans."

James Bond moved then, forcing his way through the crowd. The Death Eaters advanced, intending to stop him; Voldemort motioned for them to let Bond pass. "Lupin asked you to elaborate on how that was. Would you care to answer his question now?" James stood face to face with V, his face mere inches from V's mockery of one.

If V was intimidated, neither his mask nor his voice showed it. "Do you like my armor? I'm told mirrors wouldn't normally repel magic, but Voldemort fixed it right up for me. Quite fancy, though unsuitable for infiltration-"

Bond threw a crippling left hook directly at V's mask, only to have his wrist seized in an iron grip. V was _fast_. Strong, too - the pain of V's tightening grip lanced through Bond's arm as the masked man spoke. "I wasn't finished, and you are in no position to argue." A moment longer, and then V relinquished his hold on Bond's wrist.

"As I was about to say, the armor was from my private collection. Voldemort merely enchanted it for me, anticipating that I would need it. Wonderful foresight, by the way." Voldemort smiled, impatiently twirling his wand between his fingers.

"But why would I need it?" V asked, spinning on his heel and walking away from Bond. "Because the predictable end result of my actions necessitated it. And my actions," he continued, whirling and pacing back in Bond's direction, "were entirely necessary for my comfortable existence, let me tell you."

Kingsley snorted. "And your comfortable existence was worth thirty lives?"

V stopped pacing, spreading his arms in an "Of course" gesture. "Perhaps I should clarify what was at stake. In the morning, when the politicians trickle through the doors, they'd find many, many dead bodies where they wouldn't expect to find them. The resulting panic would end in a call for help, and in hours you'd have the military combing the city for the perpetrator. They might find my humble home in the Underground, but I plan to be far from the city by then."

V was at this point visibly frustrating Voldemort, who apparently wanted to get to the action; Ramiel watched the scene unfold with silent amusement; Saïx merely looked smug.

"Which," V continued as he backtracked to Ramiel's side, "is where Ramiel and friends came in. They agreed to keep the tunnels clear for my departure, as long as I...?" There was silence. "Oh, you can guess this one," V addressed the Order in a mock-encouraging tone.

Harry stepped forward, to stand at Bond's right. "As long as you betrayed us. As long as you gave them what they wanted: their enemies on a silver platter!"

V clapped his hands in delight. "Correct! And here we all are. I daresay this has worked out perfectly."

Voldemort could take no more. He stepped forward, moving in front of V and raising his wand as he spoke to the Order. "Indeed it has. Now, it will not do to merely execute the Order. I want to savor this moment - enjoy it. They shall be given their weapons back - now. Anyone who tries anything will be immediately killed." There was some hesitance among the Death Eaters' ranks, and then they returned the prisoners' wands, making sure to keep them on the business ends of their own. "Pair off when I give the order, and-"

V snapped his fingers for attention, and Voldemort turned to face him, a poisonous glare marring his already grotesque features. V's mask betrayed none of the malice in its owner's voice. "I. Wasn't. _Finished_." Suddenly, V whirled and sprinted for the hall opposite the prisoners. "Saïx! Now!" He spun again and threw a dagger somewhere at the ceiling, before turning and running once more.

Saïx grinned, angling his claymore in the scant light drifting through his window. "Moon, shine down!" Beyond the palace walls, the clouds parted in a single patch of sky, letting the moon penetrate the all-obscuring clouds. It shone extraordinarily bright, sending beams of blinding light through the window. The moonlight reflected off of Saïx's claymore, hitting the chandelier and illuminating the room more than any sunbeam could.

At this, all within the room shouted in surprise and alarm, and were forced to shield their eyes, lest they be robbed of their sight - save for V, protected as he was by his mask, and Saïx, who appeared unaffected - strengthened, in fact - by the moonlight. "Scatter! Meet me in the northwest tower!" Kingsley shouted over the confusion, as Saïx lowered his claymore and the light began to fade. Jets of red and green flew everywhere as the Order ran from the Death Eaters, and Bond saw Mundungus Fletcher and Dedalus Diggle fall to the ground, motionless. He drew his pistol, glad to have it returned, and quickly took down two Death Eaters that came for him, before running after V. Some of the Death Eaters stumbled or fell as the Order's spells impacted, and the rest surged for the opposite hallway.

"Split up and search the other three hallways!" Voldemort shouted. "Find Potter! Find V!" But he was cut off by a great creaking and groaning noise from above. Ramiel whirled on Saïx, who merely smiled and pointed at the ceiling. Voldemort, Ramiel, and the remaining Death Eaters looked up.

The chandelier was testing the strength of the chain that held it aloft, and winning - it sagged dangerously, and cracks quickly spiderwebbed across the ceiling. A dagger was caught in the hangings; it had fallen from its impact with the chain (which, if one looked close enough, one would find had been filed down quite a bit).

Voldemort and most of the Death Eaters immediately Apparated or made for the halls to escape the danger; Ramiel roared in anger, raising both hands in Saïx's direction and sending bolts of white lightning arcing towards him. Saïx laughed heartily and raised his claymore to defend himself. Ramiel kept up the bombardment for several seconds, until he was interrupted with a resounding SNAP.

The chandelier chose this moment to break its chain and fall, and Ramiel was forced to flee as well, a pillar of lightning melting a hole in the chandelier and signaling his disappearance. The chandelier crashed to the ground, the deafening sound of the impact echoing throughout the deserted palace. The fading echo gave way to the sounds of shouts and fighting in the halls beyond the Central Lobby.

Saïx basked in the chaos. He enjoyed the sight of V's handiwork for a moment longer, and then snapped his fingers.

The Central Lobby quickly became a mass of silver, as Nobodies large and small crawled out of portals of darkness that appeared in the ground, the veterans of the raid on Room -18. They assembled before Saïx, waiting for orders.

"Search the north, east, and west for stragglers, and kill everyone in your path. I have business elsewhere."


	13. You Only Live Thrice

"Search the north, east, and west for stragglers, and kill everyone in your path. I have business elsewhere."

---

Of course, the temporary inhabitants of the halls of the Palace of Westminster weren't so much "stragglers" as "adrenaline-fueled combatants," as a cursory glance at anywhere in the northern half of the Palace would attest. Around nearly every corner, one could find at least one member of the Order of the Phoenix dueling equal or greater numbers of Death Eaters, each spell cast and each spell blocked not merely a fighting move, but a declaration of freedom and resilience. The Order would not fail - they would fight, and they would win, and their actions in the face of adversity fully conveyed and supported their intent.

Lupin and Tonks gave every inch of themselves over to this intent as they fought a running battle through the west hallway, four Death Eaters in pursuit. "_Reducto!_" Lupin roared; his spell grazed a Death Eater's side, knocking him off course and ripping a hole in his cloak. A nearby pillar took the full force of it, and cracked in half as a large piece of it was blasted into nothingness.

"Where exactly did you intend to go?" Tonks shouted as she fired a shot at the feet of one pursuer, causing him to sink ankle-deep in the marble floor.

"Don't trouble me with details!" Lupin yelled back, dodging a deadly curse and rounding a corner. "As long as it leads northwest, that's where we go!"

Tonks was visibly annoyed by his response. "And what if we end up in a corner? No Apparating, he said!" Her next spell caught a Death Eater full in the face, vaporizing his mask; he fell to the ground, clawing at his eyes and screaming.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it!" Lupin and Tonks found themselves in a gigantic chamber, the vaulted ceiling barely visible now that the moon was once again hidden. "_Thank goodness it wasn't full,_" Lupin thought. The remaining two Death Eaters caught up with Lupin and Tonks a quarter of the way across; the Order members were forced to stand and fight, joining the five other dueling pairs - or trios, or more - in Westminster Hall.

The scene was one of chaos and confusion, multicolored lights battling for dominance within the darkness of the evening as spells flew back and forth between the Order and the Death Eaters, ripping holes in the walls and ceiling when they missed and eliciting cries of pain and shouts of anger when they didn't. Kingsley Shacklebolt was in the center of the room, dueling three Death Eaters with the help of Ron and Hermione. Mere minutes after Lupin and Tonks arrived, one Death Eater fell, his chest having erupted into a violent mass of spines and tumors. "Great timing, Hermione!" Ron shouted in encouragement, his and her spells having hit the same person at the same time.

"And that's why charms and transfiguration don't mix!" Hermione gleefully taunted the fallen foe as she dove to avoid enemy fire.

---

Fred and George were two of the ten or so Death Eaters and Order members that had traveled north, into the Members' Lobby outside the House of Commons chamber. There were three or so separate fights taking place in various corners of the room, and the twins stood in the center of it all, taking on a particularly agile Death Eater while offering martial aid to their embattled allies.

"George?" Fred asked, aiming at and missing the Death Eater's knees. "Why do you think they're called Death Eaters?"

"Can't say for sure," Fred replied, succeeding where his brother had failed and sending their enemy sprawling. "Maybe our new friend would be able to tell us?"

The Death Eater they had just crippled shot a jet of green light at the twins; it screamed right between them and obliterated the face of a statue of Benjamin Disraeli. "We thrive on the demise of those who would stand in the Dark Lord's way! Join him or die - that's the rule in his world!"

Fred clucked his tongue, waving his wand and sending the Death Eater flying into one of his compatriots; both went down in a heap, and were immediately cursed into unconsciousness by the nearby Order members. "Doesn't seem like a pleasant world he lives in, wouldn't you say, George? Maybe that's why he's so grouchy."

George shrugged, sneaking up on a Death Eater dueling Mr. Weasley and sending him to the ground with a well-placed Stunning spell. "A Ministry endorsement for your joke shop, George!" Arthur shouted as he turned to fight another Death Eater.

"All in a day's work, Dad!" George called back. "I don't know, Fred," he continued, getting back into the rhythm of conflict and conversation. "That chicken we had for dinner wasn't in a clucking mood. In a way, we're all Death Eaters, aren't we?"

"And there's a little Voldemort inside us all, then?" Fred responded, dodging a curse. "Is that what makes some people such prats?"

George returned fire at the Death Eater aiming for Fred. "Talking about that and eating, are you suggesting we fry Voldy up for dinner once this is all over?"

Fred elbowed him. "I didn't mean literally, you git!"

George tackled him to the ground, just in time to avoid enemy fire. "That's 'you life-saving git' to you!" He leaped to his feet, engaging their new opponent.

"Fair enough," said Fred as he joined his brother. A stray curse ripped a pedestal apart; the statue it held teetered dangerously. Fred and George saw it coming, diving for cover. Their enemy was not so lucky - he turned around just in time to be crushed by the falling statue of Margaret Thatcher.

Fred and George glanced at each other, then at the motionless Death Eater, then at the dispassionate gaze of the statue. "Thanks, Margie," they chorused.

---

James Bond sprinted down the center aisle of the House of Commons chamber, searching everywhere for V. Where was he? For that matter, where was Voldemort, or Ramiel, or Saïx?

The events of the evening had taken a rather confusing turn. First V had betrayed them, then he and Saïx had turned on Ramiel and Voldemort. "_But why?_" Bond thought as he dove and rolled to avoid a Death Eater's spell. "_What's Saïx's place in all this? And whose side is V really on?_" He took careful aim, shooting a Death Eater in the leg. The black-robed assailant went down on one knee, howling "Filthy, cheating Muggle!" in pain; another shot silenced him and left a hole in his mask.

"_At least now I know who Ramiel is,_" Bond thought as he exited the chamber. "_But if there really are more like him, we're in more trouble than I thought,_" he continued as he remembered the old man's warning.

Bond raced through room after room, dodging and killing Death Eaters as he went, his goal the northwest tower Kingsley had referred to. The Clock Tower: a valid staging point, considering the narrow path to it and the relative ease of dealing with the enemy there. As long as there weren't any wide-open spaces through which the Death Eaters could swarm in, they were safe. Since magic apparently couldn't defend against bullets, Bond figured he'd clear things out for them.

But when he finally reached the tower, he found that that wasn't necessary, as only a few people were there. V was dueling Ramiel, fighting his way up an old stone staircase. His daggers flashed and danced as he fought, the brilliance of Ramiel's lightning reflecting off of them and making small blades of light play across the walls. Ramiel wielded a five-and-a-half-foot sword of crackling, destructive electricity in his right hand, and he supplemented it with blasts of white-hot lightning from his left.

"Traitor!" Ramiel roared, swinging his sword at V, missing, and taking a chunk out of the handrail. "You dare stand against me? I, Ramiel, the Angel of Thunder?!"

"Angel, are you?" replied V sardonically as he twisted to avoid a bolt of lightning. "Well, my fine, feathered friend, I do not merely stand against you. I stab, I leap, I cut, I hurl my dagger against you!" V jumped, ran up the handrail, and launched himself over the infuriated angel. He flipped, throwing a perfectly honed blade down upon Ramiel while upside down. Ramiel dodged, but not enough - the dagger sliced his cheek, leaving a narrow gash from which golden blood ran free. As V landed, he tossed a dagger in the air, catching it and tipping his hat to his opponent. Ramiel ran a finger along his wound, and a tiny arc of lightning leaped from his finger to his torn skin. The wound was quickly cauterized, leaving a neat scar along Ramiel's jawline. With a roar of fury, Ramiel hurled himself at V, and the battle resumed with even greater intensity.

---

While this was going on, James Bond bore witness to an earth-shattering duel between Voldemort and Harry Potter, neither of whom would give ground. It appeared to have been going on for several minutes, judging by the sorry state of their surroundings. Giant holes had been blasted in the walls and floor, and fires raged on patches of ground where there shouldn't have been any fuel. Harry leaped back, a deadly curse striking the ground before him.

"Foolish boy!" Voldemort hissed as he effortlessly blocked Harry's next shot. "What can you possibly hope to accomplish, coming after me alone? I'll strike you down the same way I did to your parents all those years ago!"

Harry flicked his wand, sending debris flying through the air and raining down on Voldemort. "You've already lost! Whoever wins here, you die, and there's no coming back!"

Voldemort gave a high, mirthless laugh. "You think you know the ways of death? I have seen and done things you cannot comprehend!"

Harry sidestepped another curse, and looked Voldemort right in the eyes. "Maybe so. But I have something on my side you can't comprehend, either, Tom Riddle."

Voldemort roared in anger, lowering his wand. "That man is dead! I left that name at Hogwarts, once I realized my true purpose in life: To conquer! To reform! To rule by any means necessary, and rid the world of the inferior!" He stopped, and glanced over at James Bond, watching the scene unfold from the entrance. Voldemort smirked, chuckling under his breath.

"People like you, Muggle. That gun in your hand is a child's toy compared to what I can do."

Bond reloaded, pointing it at Voldemort's chest. "It's worked pretty well on your men. You'll be no different."

Voldemort laughed, his voice echoing off the walls of the tower. "You can't kill me, James! This worthless boy," he said, indicating Harry, "is destined to fight me, and to die trying! Only he has the power to kill me, and even that is no match for my strength!"

"You're wrong." Voldemort shot a withering glare at Harry, who stood defiantly across the room from his adversary. "When you killed my mother, she didn't just die. She died to save me. She died protecting me. Why do you think you couldn't kill me, before I could even walk?" Voldemort snarled, but said nothing. Harry continued, unmoved.

"It was her love that saved me. Her love that continues to protect me to this day. Love is on my side, and it will defeat you, Riddle."

Harry laid down his wand then, and spread his arms, appearing to surrender. "So go ahead. Try and kill me. Try and finish what you started seventeen years ago. It won't make any difference."

Bond looked on in shock, unable to believe what he was seeing. What did Harry expect to happen? He was asking to die, and for what purpose? "Harry, no! Are you out of your mind?" Bond was not alone in his shock - while he had been watching the fight unfold, the surviving members of the Order had only recently gathered behind him, and the sound of their cries of alarm was deafening.

"HARRY! NO!"

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS!"

Harry simply turned to them all, and smiled sadly. "Don't worry. I'll be all right."

Those were his last words. Voldemort sliced the air with his wand. A gloating cry: "_Avada Kedavra!_" There was a flash of green light. Harry's smile was frozen on his face as he fell to the ground, a silent goodbye to his friends and allies.

---

Voldemort blinked. A shiver ran through his ancient body, as if something had just misfired within him. What had just happened?

Then he looked at the body that lay before him - the body of Harry Potter, his great enemy, and smiled. He laughed. He roared in triumph and jubilation, turning to face the shocked and sorrowful Order.

"Do you see, Kingsley? I have destroyed your last hope of victory, of survival, and in the space of a single night ensured your demise! Harry Potter is dead, and I remain standing!" A loud series of cracks ripped the air, and a dozen cloaked, masked figures appeared at Voldemort's sides. "And I've saved my most faithful, most able followers for last. You have no hope, Kingsley." Voldemort smirked, and took a step back. "Now come, fight me. I want to enjoy this."

---

Fight the Order did, and with renewed conviction and intensity. Their hero had been killed before their eyes; if they were to join him, it would not be without a fight. Voldemort and his Death Eaters met the warriors of the Order with equal ferocity; far above them, the battle between V and Ramiel raged on. As the two ascended higher and higher within the clock tower, their clash grew more and more intense; before long, bolts of lightning attacked the walls with savage strikes. Outside, the clouds had burst, and heavy rain bombarded the Palace. The storm within raged right along with the storm without, and before long Ramiel had inadvertently whipped up a thunderstorm of his own within the tower. Rain fell on the combatants, the droplets of water refracting the light of magic and electricity to create a display that was at once beautiful and terrible.

The final battle wore on, turning the ground floor into a hotbed of death and chaos. All around, the Death Eaters and the Order were engaged in a deadly dance; one side avenging, the other purging. Neither were without their losses; two Death Eaters were overpowered by the Order's charge within a minute, and Lupin and then Tonks fell for the last time, the latter sprawled across the former in one last embrace. James Bond was at the center of it all, dodging, rolling, taking careful aim and firing where he could get a clear shot. He killed three Death Eaters in this way, and eventually even Voldemort could see that he was outnumbered.

"To the roof! Ramiel shall assist us there!" Voldemort fired one more curse, striking down another Order wizard, and disappeared with a CRACK. His remaining fighters followed suit, Apparating after their master, to lie in wait in the pouring rain.

"We've got them right where we want them!" roared Kingsley. "Get to the roof, and don't let them escape!" A roar of approval answered him, and the Order swarmed up the staircase after the Dark wizards. James followed them, one thought on his mind:

"_The hell with 'destiny.' Voldemort's mine._"

---

The tower floor was soon deserted, and Harry was left alone with the bodies of the fallen. The sounds of battle shited far above him, and the scene served as a grim reminder of the inevitability of death, whether by natural causes or another's hands.

Inevitability for all except one.

Harry's eyes fluttered open, and he looked around from his position on the floor. Miraculously, he had avoided being trampled. Indeed, as he sat up and dusted himself off, he did not appear to be harmed in any way. There was only one thing left to try.

Harry closed his eyes, and focused on the top of the stairs. With a CRACK, he appeared there, and through the doorway he could see the ferocious battle on the slippery roof of the Palace. On the far side he could see Voldemort, dueling Fred, George, and Kingsley, neither side making any progress. His destination was clear.

"Thanks, Mum," he whispered, and strode out onto the roof.


	14. Thunder's End

Harry closed his eyes, and focused on the top of the stairs. With a CRACK, he appeared there, and through the doorway he could see the ferocious battle on the slippery roof of the Palace. On the far side he could see Voldemort, dueling Fred, George, and Kingsley, neither side making any progress. His destination was clear.

"Thanks, Mum," he whispered, and strode out onto the roof.

---

Far above Harry, V and Ramiel fought amongst the inner machinery of Big Ben, the famous clock tower that now overlooked a battle for the future of the wizarding world and beyond. The narrow catwalks surrounding the tireless mechanisms came alive with energy as Ramiel electrified the metal floors and handrails. V saw this coming, leaping and sprinting lightly across the gears. A thrown knife found its mark in Ramiel's right arm, and the Angel roared in pain as the electricity subsided.

"This is only the beginning, V!" Ramiel shouted, splitting his sword in two and twirling them in both hands. "Even if I am defeated, there are more like me, and greater! They shall not be hindered in our quest!"

V stepped back and forth between two massive gears as they turned, deftly maintaining his balance. "Really? And what might that be? I hardly think it matters if you tell me, since by the end of the night we shall both be dead."

Ramiel smirked, ripping V's dagger from his arm and sealing the wound with a localized burst of lightning. "I and the rest of the Angels exist for one purpose: To right the wrongs of creation! To unite that which stands divided! To remake all things in our perfect image!" He rose off the ground, higher and higher until he towered ten feet over V. Great wings of crackling electricity unfolded from his back, flapping slowly and menacingly as Ramiel hovered. "And if any should stand in our way, they shall have no place in our new order."

V simply nodded, appearing totally unmoved. "Funny thing about world-conquering maniacs," he remarked, stepping carefully across the machinery to approach Ramiel. "One way or another, they all die."

V's statement was met with harsh laughter from Ramiel, who sent a massive, devastating arc of lightning V's way. The masked man barely had enough time to leap to a catwalk, and await his enemy's rebuttal.

"Insolent, uncomprehending _mortal_! When the full Convergence is upon you, the Angels shall tower over all things as gods! And you cannot kill a god, not with those pathetic knives of yours!"

V shrugged. "Perhaps not. I never intended to do so; my way is a bit more...unorthodox."

"Unorthodox?" Ramiel snorted.

"In my personal collection is a train filled with explosives. I have spent the past several years lacing the building with these, as well. No doubt you've seen the random fires at the bottom of this tower; you can thank magical interference for that." Two hundred feet below, there was a mighty CRASH; a swarm of silver flowed into the tower and up the walls. This did not escape V, so he began to talk faster. "Through the magic of remote controls, I sent this train on a collision course with the Palace basements mere minutes ago. Big Ben still works properly, so we should all be up in flames in...oh, I'd say ten minutes. Midnight. Thank you for keeping the tunnels clear, by the way."

Ramiel's face twisted in fury and disbelief. V's mask merely smiled. "I don't take kindly to otherworldly interlopers in my life. Now, as far as...killing a god...I'd say this is a decent start. Wouldn't you?"

Ramiel had had enough. With a bloodthirsty roar, the Angel dove for his enemy. V drew two knives, and braced himself for impact. As Ramiel flew through the air toward him, as the Nobodies charged up the tower and at the fearless knight in mirrored armor, V had one thought:

"_I win._"

---

Down on the roof, in the middle of the thunderstorm, the final confrontation between the Death Eaters and the Order raged on. Even though Voldemort's people were vastly outnumbered, they fought with unwavering tenacity, their devotion to Voldemort and his cause greater than their instinct for survival. That was one thing separating them from their unfortunate comrades within the building, left to be consumed by the Nobodies: They were willing to die for their lord.

And die they did. For the Order of the Phoenix, the night was taking an exciting and uplifting turn, despite the loss of Harry Potter. The Death Eaters' numbers were down to Voldemort and three followers, and help from Ramiel had not come as the Dark Lord had predicted. Spells and curses formed a rainbowlike pattern in the air, as the Order slowly enveloped and surrounded the last of their enemies. One of the Death Eaters was sent flying by a double jinx from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, his cloak bursting into blue flames as he fell through the air, to land fatally in the middle of a courtyard. James Bond ran and tackled one of the other two, engaging him in a fistfight; the other looked uncertain, afraid to fire for fear of hitting his ally.

Voldemort screamed in anger, and allowed himself a glance at one of the great clock faces as he dueled. "Ramiel, where are you?!" he bellowed.

As if in response, something burst through the thick glass on the clock, the pieces raining down like a hail of razorblades as a mass of black and white fell through the air. The white threw the black down towards the roof; this was Ramiel, who spread his wings and came to a halt twenty feet above the roof. "V is no more!" he roared, calling down lightning from the sky and firing it over the heads of the shocked Order.

"You're wrong!"

Ramiel turned his head, looking for the source of this new voice. At the same time, the mass of black slowed, floating gently to the surface of the roof. Voldemort, Ramiel, the last two Death Eaters, and the Order followed its course with incredulous eyes, to where Harry Potter stood, wearing a purposeful glare, his eyes blazing with confidence.

Reactions were diverse. Ramiel stared, taken aback, and then raised his hands to summon a deadly lightning storm. But almost immediately, he was interrupted as dozens of Nobodies leaped out of the hole in the clock face, piling on to the Angel or falling to their deaths. Voldemort roared in disbelief. James and the Order cheered, running to Harry; the other two Death Eaters fell to their knees in awe and defeat, at a complete loss for words.

Fred and George stopped running, and turned around. "Ready?" Fred asked. "For ages, mate," replied George. The two of them stood side by side, and began to perform synchronized, complicated and carefully rehearsed wand motions. Red smoke billowed from their wands, forming two giant hands, which grabbed the remaining Death Eaters and flung them screaming from the roof. The hands then extended both middle fingers and flipped Voldemort off, sending him into an uncontrollable rage. He whipped out his wand, but was stopped as the hands backhanded him across the roof. He fell, scrabbling for a grip on the slick surface, and came to a stop right at the edge.

As Ramiel fought the endless wave of Nobodies in the sky and Voldemort struggled to his feet, Harry Potter and the Order approached him. With a look that spoke of years of trauma, trials, and desire for revenge, Harry spoke.

"The Killing Curse? Didn't you try that already?"

Voldemort's fury was palpable in the surrounding air. "Look above you, Harry!" he screamed, pointing at Ramiel. "If I cannot kill you, he will! Lightning itself is his to command! And the rest of the Order can fall, has fallen, and will fall before my wand!"

Harry shook his "Isn't that just like you - hiding behind people and objects to stay alive. Did you ever consider that that night when you killed my parents took a little more out of you than you thought?"

Voldemort seethed, frozen to the spot by his hatred. Harry merely went on:

"That Killing Curse ripped your soul in half, but it found somewhere to hide: Me." Voldemort's crimson eyes widened in disbelief; perhaps there was even a little fear mixed in. "You made another Horcrux by accident, Riddle. I Apparated to the top of the stairs, even though you set up wards against it. You tried to kill me tonight. But I came back. My mother's love gave me the power to do all this. Guess what you killed?"

This was all Voldemort could stand. "_Enough!_" He whipped out his wand, pointing it at each member of the Order in turn. "_Ramiel! Strike-_"

But that was all Voldemort could say. In the blink of an eye, James whipped out his pistol and fired a single shot. Voldemort's wand exploded in his hand, the shards embedding themselves in his arm and face, causing the Dark Lord to roar in pain. Immediately, Bond shouted "_HARRY! NOW!_"

Harry needn't have rushed. Without his wand as a focus, Voldemort could neither Apparate nor cast a spell. But as Harry waved his wand, as Voldemort looked Harry in the eyes for the last time, he thought he could almost hear Harry's thoughts:

"_You're finished. Now._"

"_STUPEFY!_" A Stunning spell erupted from Harry's wand, the jet of red light flying at blinding speed and striking Voldemort directly in the heart. The Dark Lord froze, stumbled back, and fell over the edge of the Palace rooftop.

James Bond, Harry Potter, and the rest of the Order rushed to the edge to see the Dark Lord's impact. A flash of lightning from up above illuminated the grounds of the Palace, and all those present saw Voldemort, broken and defeated, lying lifeless on the bricks of the courtyard.

A roar of joy and victory surged up from the Order, as Harry was lifted off his feet and carried back to the middle of the roof. Harry's hand was shaken, he was hugged again and again, Ginny threw her arms around him, smothering him in kisses-

The merriment was interrupted as Big Ben tolled the hour.

_BONG. BONG. BONG._

V's crumpled body stirred in a pool of his own blood, and the masked man raised himself up on one elbow. He looked around, and nodded; despite his condition, the mask on his face reflected his current emotions.

_BONG. BONG. BONG._

Just loud enough for all to hear, V spoke.

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November

The gunpowder treason and plot..."

_BONG. BONG. BONG._

"I know of no reason why this gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot."

_BONG. BONG. BONG._

The last tolling of the bells died away with V's last words. It was midnight - on the fifth of November.

A deafening explosion rocked the building, and the Order was hit by mass panic. It was Mr. Weasley who took control of the situation first. "V's train! He's detonated it! Everyone, follow me, _NOW!_"

The group wasted no time in following Arthur's orders; they ran after him, to the rooftop entrance to the clock tower.

Ramiel saw them coming.

With a roar, he vaporized the remaining Nobodies with a flurry of lightning bolts from his hands, flying down and blocking the door to the tower.

"_BY THE ALL-POWERFUL FORCES OF THUNDER AND LIGHTNING, YOU SHALL NOT LEAVE THIS PLACE!_"

With that, Ramiel closed his eyes, rising slowly up the side of the tower. Lightning arced from everywhere in the surrounding city, from farther away as he flew higher. Light poles, power lines, lamps, ceiling lights - all things electrical fed Ramiel's ever-growing power as he gathered more and more strength for his final, desperate attack. The Palace weakened as more of it was destroyed with each passing second, but Ramiel only grew stronger.

Arthur Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and three others waved their wands at the bigger pieces of glass from the clock's face. A chorus of "Portus!" went up from the casters; five shards glowed a dull blue, then returned to normal. "_FOUR PEOPLE TO A SHARD! ON MY COUNT!_" roared Kingsley.

Everyone grasped the pieces of the clock face, holding on for dear life. The lower floors of the Palace were completely destroyed; already Voldemort's body had been vaporized.

"_THREE!_"

Ramiel was surrounded in a massive, pulsating ball of lightning right below the clock face, still gaining energy from everywhere within a thousand feet.

"_TWO!_"

Bolts of lightning began to strike the tower and the roof behind the Order.

"_ONE!_"

The roof shook, and cracks were appearing all through it. Bond took one last look at V's body, but it was still. At that moment, he and the Order were whisked away in a whirlwind of magic, gone from the Palace. Safe from Ramiel's thunderstorm.

Ramiel, his eyes still closed, saw none of this. The clock tower exploded behind him from the ground up, but he did not care. All that mattered was the Order. As long as they were gone, he would not have died in vain.

A sour note from the bells brought him to attention as the top of the tower succumbed; Ramiel turned in time to see the clock face above him shattering, the shards of glass slicing him like knives; the lightning around him healed the wounds as fast as they were inflicted. A whooshing noise from above him caused Ramiel to look up.

His vision was dominated by the clock's great minute hand falling through the air at terrifying speed. It easily pierced the great orb of electricity surrounding Ramiel, its deadly course all too clear to the Angel.

Ramiel tried to avoid the copper behemoth, alive with his electricity but carrying no promise of healing or power. The Angel twisted to dodge it...

But not in time.

The minute hand pierced Ramiel through the neck, driving through him like a gigantic ice pick, skewering him from head to foot and through his heart. Even Angels cannot recover from such a thing; Ramiel was no exception.

The lightning coursing through Ramiel held the hand in place, and his ravaged body hung in the sky like a grotesque marionette. The ball of lightning around him shuddered, flickered, and then contracted in the blink of an eye. In another fraction of a second, Ramiel exploded in an unstoppable burst of lightning, vaporizing the clock hand and obliterating the Angel's body once and for all.

The explosion engulfed the crumbling Palace of Westminster and everything within a hundred feet, scorching and disintegrating everything unfortunate enough to be within the blast radius. The entire city beyond went dark as a blackout spread from ground zero to the edges of Greater London.

When the smoke cleared and the lightning crackled out of existence, the Palace was ruined. Charred bits of wall and burning gardens were all that was left. Beyond it, several buildings were aflame, the street had been ripped apart, and a gigantic hole scarred one end of Westminster Bridge. None of this went unnoticed by emergency workers that arrived on the scene, save for the cause of it all:

Ramiel, the Angel of Thunder, was dead.


	15. Epilogue

When the smoke cleared and the lightning crackled out of existence, the Palace was ruined. Charred bits of wall and burning gardens were all that was left. Beyond it, several buildings were aflame, the street had been ripped apart, and a gigantic hole scarred one end of Westminster Bridge. None of this went unnoticed by emergency workers that arrived on the scene, save for the cause of it all:

Ramiel, the Angel of Thunder, was dead.

---

"It is a scene of tragedy and confusion here at what was formerly the beloved Palace of Westminster, which served as the meeting place for both houses of Parliament. At midnight on the fifth of November, a massive explosion shook the very foundations of London, utterly destroying the Palace and severely damaging the surrounding areas. Luckily, no members of Parliament were present or injured, but more than a hundred citizens' injuries or deaths have been confirmed. Within the blast radius was the clock tower colloquially known as Big Ben, which has also been wiped off the face of the earth. The exact cause of the damage is nearly impossible to determine, given the degree of destruction, but the few eyewitness reports indicate that the explosions began on the lower floors. This information, along with the date of the incident, recalls the infamous Gunpowder Plot from over 400 years ago. As some of you may be aware, the Gunpowder Plot was a conspiracy to destroy the houses of Parliament; among the conspirators was the notorious Guy Fawkes, who lends his name to today's commemoration of the discovery of the plot. Some eyewitnesses also report seeing a "great ball of light" that was impaled by one of the clock tower's hands, causing a midair explosion and contributing to the leveling of the building. However, such accounts remain unsubstantiated so far, and the government is currently looking for any sign of terrorist activity. Liz Wilson, reporting for BBC News."

The report on the Factory Room's television made this particular Guy Fawkes Day one of mourning. The holiday was intended to celebrate the saving of Parliament from destruction back in 1605; now that it had actually happened, festivities seemed in rather poor taste, and there was talk of suspending them until further notice.

None of this was any concern of the Order of the Phoenix. Indeed, they wished the destruction of the Palace had not been necessary, and maybe it hadn't been. Voldemort was killed without it, but there was no telling what Ramiel could have done to them. The general consensus was that they had done what they set out to do, and they couldn't ask for more - save for the freedom to bury their dead.

That hadn't stopped them from cheering, however, after escaping the destruction of the Palace. A massive wave of energy had set everyone's hair on end only a moment after their escape; the sound of the explosion and the blackout sweeping across the city told them all they needed to know. The entire day had been one of celebration and remembrance of Lupin, Tonks, and the rest of the fallen; Ramiel was dead, and the world was once again safe for all mankind.

"_Hopefully,_" thought James Bond, speaking to Kingsley in the alley that evening. James had finished saying his goodbyes; now he and Kingsley were discussing the future, and what it held. Amelia and Littlefinger, after all, had escaped, and Saïx had disappeared completely. Yes, he was against Ramiel, but who knew if he was for the Order?

"So you still don't know who Ramiel is or why he was here?" asked Kingsley.

Bond shook his head. "I heard him fighting V in the clock tower; he claimed to be the Angel of Thunder or something like that. But whatever else he might have said died with V back at the Palace."

Kingsley nodded, then offered his hand for Bond to shake; a second later, he reconsidered and wrapped the Muggle in a hug. "We couldn't have done this without you. Thank you, James."

James hesitated a second, then returned the embrace. They separated, and Kingsley nodded again. "You're looking for the others, then? How will you find them? Can you travel between worlds?"

James thought a moment, remembering the card in his pocket. "_One way to find out,_" he thought. "As long as the Angels and their allies are out there, I'll have to find a way," he answered.

Kingsley shook his hand once more, beaming. "Well spoken, James. I suppose this is goodbye, then?"

"Tell everyone it was good to work with them...and thank you for your hospitality." Kingsley bowed. "Until we meet again," he said, and walked back into the Factory Room.

---

James Bond hadn't gone ten feet down the alley before his cellphone rang. The caller ID simply read "M."

"Oh, this will be fun," James thought, half-smiling and answering. "M! What a pleasant surprise. Mission accomplished, by the way. When do you want my report?"

"The only thing I want, James, is your _head_ on a _plate!_" James's boss screamed, loud enough to cause him to hold the phone several inches away from his ear. "I've seen the news! Blowing up a building is one thing, but destroying Parliament is _quite_ another! What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

James rolled his eyes. "First, the destruction of Parliament was not my fault. Second, two extremely powerful and dangerous men are dead. Third..." James heard a helicopter in the distance. "Are you triangulating my location?"

"Twenty armed men are en route to your position, Bond. Resist and we'll label you an enemy of the state."

"This is illegal, isn't it?"

"_So is blowing up the Palace of Westminster!_"

"I love you too, M. Cheers." With that, James hung up, and ducked into a dead end nearby. He took the card out of his pocket, reading it. "FORCAS." It meant the same thing yesterday as it did today: absolutely nothing.

The helicopter was getting louder. "_No time like the present,_" James thought, ripping the card in half.

"Evening," said a voice from behind him. James whirled, pointing his gun before he even knew what was there.

It was the old man from yesterday, still in the green button-down shirt, still in the slacks, still wearing dark glasses that completely hid his eyes. "Easy there, James, I'm only here to help."

James did not lower his gun. "Who are you, how did you get here, and who do you work for?"

The old man laughed. "You're not in any position to be asking questions, are you?" He gestured at the sky; judging by the sound, the helicopter was almost overhead.

James held his gun on the man, glared, and finally lowered it. "Just give me that step in the right direction."

The stranger smiled wickedly, and snapped his fingers. There was a sound of wind blowing behind James, and he looked to see what it was.

A triangular symbol was being drawn in the air behind him, as if by an invisible hand. Lines of white came together at the corners, and in seconds the same symbol that had been on the card was hovering in the air before James. The triangle-within-a-triangle remained as it was, as tiny, intricate symbols drew themselves within the shape, and James had a split second to notice that the left corner of the triangle was empty.

Almost as soon as this realization came to him, the symbol flipped, so that an edge was parallel with the ground, and rapidly expanded, in seconds forming an isosceles portal. James could see a dark forest beyond, and could just make out a cave in the distance. Was this his next step?

"Funny thing about this step," the old man said, as if reading James' mind. "It's more of a stumble."

James turned back to the stranger too late. The old man's outline seemed to blur, and in a fraction of a second he was right in front of James, and had delivered a devastating thrust punch directly to his chest. James cried out in alarm, reached for his gun -

But he was already through the portal. As he picked himself up off the forest floor, he saw it already closing. It was too small for him to go through by the time he was on two feet again, but he could just make out the old man's form turning gray and gaseous; in a second he was a cloud of fog, disappearing off to who knew where.

In another second, the portal was closed. James was trapped.

---

The fog drifted through space and time, eventually ending up in an abandoned hall on a world far from London. The sunset of this world was refracted through the few undamaged stained glass windows of the great hall, and provided a morose, red-tinted backdrop to the events taking place within.

In the center of the hall, the fog coalesced into a new form: a tall, slight, man in gray robes decorated with shifting and changing symbols. This man possessed black hair that fell to his shoulders; he also wore a black blindfold, yet seemed to know his way around. He made his way to an altar at the far end of the hall, where stood another man in similar robe, though these were lavender instead of gray or white. The new man's snow-white hair covered one eye, but malice danced in the other as he regarded a third man, who knelt before him, sobbing.

"Please, my lord...this was not what I intended when I asked for peace..."

The lavender-clad man glanced at the man in gray walking toward him, then fixed his gaze back on the one on the floor. "It has often been said that one should be careful what one wishes for. My peace is absolute, but only as long as none disturb it. I believe you are the last to stand in the way of your desire. Shall I grant it?"

The sobbing man lost all control, gibbering and screaming for mercy. The white-haired man before him was not moved; he simply held out his hand. A pillar of silver light appeared in it, slightly shorter than its summoner. It expanded, then solidified in the form for a silver staff, two-pronged at its head and inscribed with symbols for peace from hundreds of different worlds and cultures. The screams were cut off as the staff was touched to the forehead of the pitiful beggar, who froze in place as he quickly turned to stone, gray spreading from his forehead to the rest of him.

The man with the staff nodded once, then turned to the new arrival. "Forcas. I trust all is as planned?"

Forcas, the man with the blindfold, nodded. "Of course, Lord Valoel. I see you've done an admirable job here." Two small spherical objects flew through a broken window, and Forcas reached out and caught them, placing them in orbit around his head. Closer inspection would reveal that these were his eyes. "Literally."

Valoel chuckled. "And Ramiel? He has been disposed of?"

Forcas nodded, grinning. "With extreme prejudice, my lord. Hs allies are dead or have scattered; James Bond is already on the next world."

"Excellent. I don't think he'll need your help getting to the next one; rest assured, he will find other ways," Valoel responded.

Forcas bowed. "What would you have me do, then, my lord?"

Valoel thought a moment. "Travel to King's Landing. I want to know what the others are doing."

---

Whew! What a ride. Sorry it took six months to get all this done - it was a combination of a busy schedule and Diablo II.

I realize this leaves a lot of questions. Who are the Angels? Where is James Bond? Who are Forcas and Valoel, and what are they doing? Don't worry about a thing - Part II is on its way, and it should shed more light on the whole issue. For now, enjoy! (And review. Authors love reviews.)

I hope Part I was as fun for you all to read as it was for me to write. It only gets bigger from here.

Love and thanks to all the readers,

Zellarius Burvenia

P.S. Every fictional thing in the story is the property of their respective creators. Except the Angels. The Angels are mine.


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